


Love is Stupid

by FeatheredKit



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Addiction, Alcoholism, Alexithymia, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bipolar Disorder, Character Development, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Instability, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Slow Build, Suicidal Bill, Suicide Attempt, upping the rating for precautionary measures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:37:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 180,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6014410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheredKit/pseuds/FeatheredKit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College was supposed to be easy. The last thing Dipper would've wanted was to be thrusted into an entirely new environment, filled with strange people and places that he has a hard time understanding. </p><p>Most importantly, however, he didn't expect his wavering feelings towards his enigmatic dorm roommate, whose personality and past are...intricate, to say the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love is New

Dipper wasn't ready. He didn't think he would ever be ready.

As he descended down the large hall of his new college's dormitories, he paid close attention so he wouldn't bump into any strangers. After all, he didn't want to make any bad first impressions already- the first day of classes wasn't even for another two weeks.

 _618, 618,_ he thought, lightly gnawing on his lower lip. _Where are you, room 618?_ This was the dorm that he had been assigned to not long ago, when he had been accepted into the college.

He casually passed other students who had decided to come early, trying not to listen in on their conversations despite his really really good hearing. He stifled a gulp and grasped his duffel bag in his shaky, sweaty hands and trudged on, doing his best to keep his shoulders straight.

Dipper was surprised he had even managed to get into a university as good as this one. Only the best of the best got in, including kids with 4.0 GPAs and no behavior problems. Of course, Dipper did have a high GPA and a good permanent record, but he couldn't help but feel as if he could've done better on his interview. He'd been an absolute sweaty mess that day, hesitating on questions, and he was more than sure he had used half of the interviewers tissues to wipe his burning face.

It was alright in the end, however, because soon after that he received his acceptance letter. And, oh boy, had his family been excited. He'd received a loud and painful slap on the back from his father, a wet but passionate kiss on the forehead from his mother, and a large and crushing hug from his twin sister. Things seemed to be looking up, and he surely didn't want to let them down. Because, heck, he was Dipper Pines- and he was going to get his degree in creative writing even if it killed him (his father's words, not his).

Things had been easy until the realization hit him that he was having to head up north to Gravity Falls, a small town in Oregon. Not only was it quite far from his house in Piedmont, California, but a "small town boy" kind of life didn't really feel like his thing. However, he promised not to let his family down and headed on the plane to Gravity Falls, promising to keep up with his family via messaging and email.

The hardest part of it all, he had to admit, had to have been the plane ride.

Not only was the man sitting next to him drooling in his deep sleep, but his snoring was so loud and obnoxious and one point or another his head had managed to find a comfy place on Dipper's shoulder. The poor boy wasn't sure if he was going to be able to get the horrible saliva off of his favorite blue sweater or not. Unfortunately.

While attempting to ignore his seatmate, he had grabbed a brochure on Gravity Falls and what could be found there. Honestly, if he couldn't find anything good there then he was probably just going to hole himself up in his dorm room (with the exception of going to the cafeteria to eat, of course- after all, it was all-you-can-eat! Who could possibly resist such a compelling offer?).

Upon his reading, however, he found that really the only interesting thing about the town were the few shops with interesting knick knacks, including his great uncle's shack, and the one diner called Greasy's that was apparenty infamous for it's coffee omelette. Dipper wrinkled his nose at even the thought of even wanting to taste something like that. Who would? That was just...weird.

But apart from the fact that the town held one of the best colleges in the entire country, there wasn't really much more that seemed to capture his interest.

 _Nothing to see here, folks!_ was what the welcoming sign to the town said. It was hard to read on this tiny brochure.

Dipper decided to take that to heart.

Then the guy next to him rested his head on his shoulder.

And now here he was. Walking in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, people who suddenly seemed a lot more hostile than they did before. And without his sister, Mabel. How was he going to survive this?! What had he been thinking?!

Oh, oh gosh- was it getting hot in here? Did someone turn up the heat, because he was really feeling uncomfortable here. Wow.

Dipper turned his attention back to the door numbers, finding relief now that he was closer to his room.

_624...622...620..._

Dipper smiled. Aha. This was his dorm room.

 _618_.

His placed his hand on the doorknob and turned slowly. Then he suddenly pulled away his hand quickly as yet another realization hit him like a punch to the head.

_What's my roommate going to be like? What if they don't like me? What if they're the kinda person who doesn't like it when other people stay up until 5 A.M. studying?! What if they just don't like me? Will I have to get my room moved, then? But what if no one in this university likes me, and I don't fit in with anyone. Oh my God, what if-_

Mabel's words rang in his head then, as if on cue. What she'd told him at the airport before he left: " _Remember, Bro, you have absolutely nothing to worry about, so just don't worry. You'll only get in your own way if you do that, and I don't think Mom or Dad would like it if your head exploded over something small._ " Then she'd laughed and slugged his arm lightly. _"You're gonna be just fine."_

Dipper took a deep breath, lightly muttering her final words under his breath. His hand returned to the doorknob.

"I'm gonna be just fine," he whispered, turning it slowly and carefully, as if preparing for something on the other side to jump out at him. "I'm gonna be...just fine. I'm gonna be just fine. Yeah." If he was so sure of that then he wouldn't have to repeat it over and over. "I'm...gonna be...just...fine..."

This had been a family saying for as long as he could remember. His parents always said this, over and over again, really getting their point across, usually before a school project or a large test towards the end of the school year. Although they said this more so to Dipper than Mabel, considering he was the "paranoid" twin, a trait that his father had told him was probably picked up from one of his great uncles, Stanford Pines. But Dipper didn't know him much.

Something in Dipper shut down at this moment in time, probably from knowing that he hadn't been at orientation to get a tour of the school and meet his college roommate ahead of time.

No, it wasn't that Dipper was shy to meet his college roommate. Absolutely not. After all, he was here two weeks early. His roommate probably didn't even arrive yet. He was just nervous because...what if the soap didn't work for him? He did have very fragile skin. Yeah, yeah, that was it. Because, no, Dipper was definitely not nervous to meet his college roommate, okay? Okay.

It took him a moment to realize that he had been standing frozen muttering like an idiot, because when he turned his head he saw two students, a boy and a girl, casting him weird glances. He forced a small smile and laughed lightly. "I-I'm fine. Just...jitters, ya know? College jitters. Is that a thing? That's a thing, right?" The two only shrugged it off and walked away, proceeding to start a conversation about the chocolate pudding served or something.

Did the school cafeteria really serve pudding? Was it good?

_Dipper, focus. Focus. You're stalling._

And with that he turned back to the door and twisted the knob, flinging the door open harder than he intended. It slammed against the wall mercilessly, the sound echoing down the hall, and before he could suffer any further embarrassment he closed the door quickly.

The first thing he was aware of was the smell of alcohol hitting his nose. Tears formed in his eyes and he dropped his bag quickly, directing his attention to the side of the room closest to the window.

_No, oh no._

This wasn't what he had expected at all.

There, across the large room, sat his roommate sprawled out across one of the plush beds, earbuds in, although Dipper could hear his music from here. He had blond hair, darker near the roots (which made Dipper wonder if it was his natural color), wearing a simple yellow shirt and black jeans. His eyes were a hazel color- they almost seemed golden- and Dipper couldn't help but shudder when his head suddenly snapped in his direction.

Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity, gold on brown, and neither of them spoke. The blond switched off his music without turning away, his eyes widening for a moment before narrowing. They almost seemed to be calculating, as if Dipper was some type of code that he wanted to crack. The silence was painful yet...blissful at the same time, in a way that Dipper couldn't quite understand. His mouth was starting to go dry.

The blond's jaw clenched in a way that Dipper couldn't help but find threatening. Was he going to say something? Or was Dipper himself going to have to speak first? He really didn't like to start conversations, he was so bad at it...

He coughed into his sleeve, laughing awkwardly. "Well, uh, hi! I'm Dipper Pines, and this is my dorm room...618. Yep, room 618. And since this is my dorm room and it's also your dorm room I'm assuming that you must be my roommate?" _Shut up, Dipper. Just shut up._ "So, uh, I guess that's cool. I look forward to getting to know you and..." He sniffed, "Ugh, have you been drinking? " He didn't realize until after he had spoken that that probably wasn't the best question to ask this guy.

Silence. Painful freaking _silence_.

Then the blond grinned ear-to-ear, revealing rows of unnaturally sharp teeth. Yes, that was definitely alcohol that Dipper was smelling. "Dipper, huh? That's a pretty dumb name." Dipper was about to offer a reply of sorts, but was cut short of doing so when the other male suddenly stood and headed across the room in swift strides, face-to-face with him in seconds. He was significantly taller than Dipper, at least three inches, and he looked relatively skinny, though Dipper was sure this kid could beat the living shit out of him if he wanted to. "What, do your parents, like, hate you or something?"

Dipper blushed. "It's just a nickname," he muttered. And that was true. His sister had come up with it when they were in elementary school and it stuck since. She'd come up with the idea because-

"Then what's your real name?" The blond lightly bit on his thumb, eyes examining Dipper from head to toe. It was really making him feel uncomfortable. "Because there's no way in hell that I'm calling you Dipper. We need to come up with somethin' good, kid." How insulting.

 _Kid_? "What the heck, dude, you're not much older than I am!"

This earned him a snicker. "Please never call me 'dude' again." The blond was now circling Dipper, as if trying to study him. His eyes showed something along the line of interest, his grin still wide but not as much as it had been before. "Hhmmm, how about Pine Tree? You know, because you smell like pine trees." Yep, he meant Dipper's cologne. Mabel had said that it smelled "cute", but since when did cologne have an appearance?

Now he was regretting that he ever put it on in the first place.

The blond leaned in close- much to close for Dipper's comfort- and took a large whiff of his hair. Oh God, Dipper could practically _taste_ this guy's alcohol by now. "Mmmm. Not bad..."

His blush now spreading to his neck and ears, Dipper pushed him away, obviously flustered. "Pine Tree? That sounds dumber than Dipper. So how's about no to that, yeah?" He let out an exasperated sigh and plopped down onto his own bed, trying not to make contact with his roommate. "I have no idea how I'm gonna bear sharing a room with you."

"Hey, you're no princess yourself, hon."

Hon?

 _Hon_?

Okay, he really needed to give this guy a piece of his mind

...but he felt too scared to.

"Uh-huh. What's your name, anyway?" Dipper laid his head onto his pillow, now suddenly interested in the cream-colored ceiling. This was going to be a year, alright.

If he just acted casual, then he could get this guy to go away. Yeah.

Just. Sound. Confident. "You kinda decided to be all creepy instead of introducing yourself, dude. "

The blond laughed hysterically and sat on the edge of Dipper's bed. He reached over and placed a hand on his knee in...what? Some type of reassurance? Dipper tried to pretend he wasn't there. "Eh, I'd get used to it if I were you. Me being creepy is, in my own sort of way, me saying that I like you. So you'd better fucking be honored right now."

Dipper groaned. Wow, this guy was going to be a pain, wasn't he? Suddenly he wondered why he had been so scared of him in the first place. "Name?" he said, loudly, emphasizing the word. "Or else I'm gonna call you 'dude' all year, and then we'll both hate each other."

There was a moment when the other didn't reply, as if considering whether he should or not. He hummed lightly and ran his hand down Dipper's knee until he reached his ankle, lightly squeezing down. The other hand lightly tapped on the plush sheets of the bed.

"Name's Bill, kid," he finally replied, "Bill Cipher."

Dipper smiled and sat up, shaking his leg until Bill pulled his hand away. "See? Was that so hard? So would you mind just calling me Dipper, please?"

"I can call you whatever I want, kid." Bill chimed with what felt like an unnecessary amount of enthusiasm. He hopped off the bed and headed back to his side of the room, sitting down on the side of his bed before he began to blast his music again.

"I hate you." Dipper grumbled.

Bill snickered. "Welcome to college."

 


	2. Love is Confusing

The time until classes started couldn't seem to go by fast enough for Dipper, minutes feeling like hours and hours feeling like days, like the universe itself slowed to make him even more nervous than he already was. Every breath he took felt low and drawn out, as if even his own body was adjusting to how slowly the world seemed to be turning.

Looking for some way to entertain himself was difficult enough, not to mention there wasn't much to see even when he left his dorm room. Sure, the college's dormitories were large enough, but none of the other students really caught his eye.

Of course, talking to Bill wasn't really much of an option considering that he was only ever in their dorm room at night- and when he was there all he did was blast his music so loudly that Dipper could hear it from across the room. How he wasn't deaf by now Dipper didn't know, nor did he even have the slightest amount of interest in finding out. He almost took consideration into talking to the head about getting a new room, but soon decided against it when he realized that Bill seemed to have even the slightest amount of interest in him.

Well, yeah, they didn't really talk much, but Dipper could practically feel it.

They exchanged no more than a few words per day, and those words strictly included, “Hello” and “How are you?” They sometimes wished good night to each other but something like that was only to be seen on a good day.

However so, Dipper could _feel_ Bill's eyes on him most of the time that they were together, watching him in such a way that it made a blush grow on his face and his heart speed up to what felt like an unhealthy rate. This lead him to decide that he wanted to have as little interaction and contact with the blond as possible- by his calculations it would put a stop to that stupid warmth that built up in his chest.

But it was adventures throughout the dormitories that came to help him realize that Bill was much more popular than he had initially thought. Most of the students- preferably females- usually went on and on about how amazingly intelligent and incredible Bill was, then settling for whining about how _Dipper_ had gotten to be Bill's roommate and not _them._

This caused Dipper to conclude that Bill was the “flirty hot popular” type of guy. Which, of course, granted Dipper himself the role of “unworthy loser wannabe who thinks he's something special.” Although he wanted to tell them more than once that he'd gladly switch rooms with them if he was capable. But, unfortunately, the stupid “no two people of different genders can share the same room because apparently they'll have sex” rule applied for this place as well.

Wonderful.

The only girl in the university that _didn't_ have some kind of creepily disgusting obsession with Bill was Pacifica Elise Northwest, a freshman who happened to be a part of a rich family. Dipper was sure he had seen her face once or twice before in Piedmont's local papers, but he had never really paid much attention to it before- although he vaguely remembered Mabel shoving one of those magazines in his face before and gushing on about how beautiful she was.

How incredibly awesome that Dipper got to be “graced by the presence” of a magazine star such as Pacifica. Even in real life she looked absolutely and utterly _perfect,_ her face practically buried in make up and her clothes seeming to compliment her (probably fake?) blonde hair and shining sky blue eyes. It was as if she was expecting a camera crew to assault her for pictures at any moment, and Dipper actually wouldn't at all have been surprised if one actually did.

Despite his bias he found out rather quickly that Pacifica _wasn't_ actually that much of a spoiled rich bitch (or at least that sounded like something his mom would say). She legitimately seemed like a good person, and after a talk or two with her they became good friends. And he was sure she was probably going to be the only friend he was actually going to get in this place.

Most of his nervousness regarding the university died down within a few days, and soon the place began to feel like a second home. He always had the reminder that his great uncles, Stan and Ford, actually lived in town, so he could always go talk to them if things ever went wrong, not to mention that video chatting with Mabel was always something to take into consideration as well. He actually did talk to her every day since he arrived and, even though classes themselves hadn't even started yet, Mabel was expecting some kind of juicy gossip with much anticipation.

But this wasn't high school anymore, and Dipper found himself reminding her this more than once. This was _college,_ and whether he passed or not would determine if he was going to be successful out in the real world.

However, _yes,_ maybe most of the students here had the heart of high schoolers, but who could blame them? They'd only walked down the podium with their high school diplomas a few short months ago, and now here they were in Gravity Falls in one of the best colleges in the country, expected to have another passing four years. Dipper tried not to think about this too often, as it would only make him into a nervous mess- and that was the one thing Mabel had told him _not_ to do.

He decided it was best to not tell Mabel about his asshole roommate, considering that it would only wind up giving her the wrong idea in the end. Because, when it came to people that Dipper hated, for some reason she always saw a reason that he should get together with them in the end. It was kind of disturbing, if he was being honest with himself.

Now here he was, sitting in Pacifica's dorm room and having a casual conversation with her. Her roommate, Wendy Corduroy, was almost never in the dorm room- which was something that Dipper sort of had in similar with her. It was only eight days until classes started up, and that only meant eight more days for Dipper to actually have time to hang out with the only cool person here.

“So I heard Cipher's your roommate.” Pacifica said suddenly, sending a quick text before shoving her phone in her pocket and sitting next to Dipper on her bed. “I _really_ wish you luck with him, to be honest. He's a jerk.”

Like Dipper couldn't already figure that out for himself.

He laughed awkwardly. “Wow. Thanks for the helpful words.” Secretly this was making him more scared than he had been before. “I'm pretty sure I can pick up on the whole ‘Bill is a jerk' thing, though. I mean, he isn't really much of a jerk now, but on the day I met him he was in my personal space.”

“Sounds like Bill.” Pacifica wrinkled her nose in distaste. “He's the kind of guy that acts nice enough and stuff around the teachers, but in reality he's just an insane drug addict like most other frat boys.” She rolled her eyes, adding, “I swear, he literally smells like a fucking shit- excuse my French- whenever he's _not_ in the presence of authority. Somehow, though, he always manages to wipe it away and fix his perfect little face, smiling away and looking like Jesus in front of everyone. Then later he sleeps with like ten girls in two weeks.”

“So he's like a man whore?” Dipper asked, immediately putting a hand over his mouth after he'd said it. Oh God, that hadn't meant to come out _like that…_

Pacifica only laughed. “No, no. It's fine. You're right. Besides, it's not like he's in here with us.” Why did that make Dipper want to search the room? “What you said is actually pretty spot on. Bill is, quite literally, a man whore. Some girls actually pay him to sleep with them.”

The mere thought made Dipper gag. “Ew, that's disgusting.”

“Haha, yeah, it is. He may be all Prince Charming and heavenly angel on the outside, but on the inside he's just another playboy looking for attention. ‘Hey world, look at me! Since I'm hot you should all just drop everything and look at me!’ I'm literally a magazine model and I can say with complete honesty I actually _hate_ people like that.”

Dipper smiled. “Guess I know now that I should hate him, too.”

“You really should.” Pacifica brushed her bangs out of her face, smiling. “I'm sure you should be alright, though. As long as you don't give him attention he won't even notice that you're there. Like most popular kids do.”

“I'll take that advice to heart.” And he really intended to.

Pacifica wrapped one of her arms around his shoulders and gave him a reassuring squeeze, accompanied by a kind and light laugh. “You're pretty cool though, you dork. I'm sure you'll be able to handle anything this place throws at you, so in the end I'm sure Bill will be the least of your problems.” Dipper hoped that she was right.

Soon after Pacifica thanked him for the company and they said their farewells, Dipper walking out and lightly shutting the room door.

_639._

This was his new favorite room number.

He headed back to his own dorm room, as per usual trying not to have any kind of interaction with anyone that he passed. He stuffed his hands into his jean pockets, eyes locked towards the ground, until he made it to room 618. Placing one hand on the knob, he turned it and walked in with an idiotic smile on his face. What he wasn't expecting, however, was for Bill to be in the room.

Waiting for _him._

At least, that's what it seemed like.

His smile fell fast.

The blond had been sitting on _his_ bed, eyes shining with something that Dipper's couldn't quite recognize right away, ear buds in but with no music playing. His elbows were on his knees and one hand cupped his face, his head tilting slightly to the side when Dipper entered. A wide grin spread across his features, making the other's blood run cold.

Something wasn't right here.

What was he-

“You sure were out for a long time." Bill laughed, pressing his ankles together. _Why_ did that laugh sound more threatening than friendly? Dipper closed the door but remained by it nonetheless (better stay close in case he needed to make a run for it), eyeing him suspiciously. What was that look in his golden gaze? Interest? Curiosity?

“Well, yeah." Dipper replied, gulping, “I've been showing myself around the dormitories for the past few days. Since I arrived. You know, because there really isn't anything else to do here. I just really...wanted to get to know this place, is all. Why does it matter to you?”

Bill didn't reply, only hummed thoughtfully. “Why, if you'd told me that you were bored _before_ I could've found a way to entertain you.” That way he said that didn't sound right. His eyes were twinkling with mischief, and he added, “I even could've given you a tour myself. The professors here absolutely _adore_ me, if you hadn't already found that out when you were wandering around. Didja have fun?” he asked suddenly, grin faltering for a moment before returning to it's overconfident state after a split second. But Dipper noticed.

“Well, apparently I'm not worthy to be roommates with someone as perfect and amazing as you," the brunet snapped back sarcastically. “And, yes, I talked to a few of the professors and they had nothing but good things to say about you. Especially Professor Determined. He acts like you're his son or something.” One of the hands behind his back tried to get a firm hold on the doorknob. “I was told that I shouldn't buy your perfect boy act, however, not to mention that I really don't like you, so I seriously think it would be better if we just stayed out of each other's way. I kind of have my Creative Writing degree and stuff to work for, so someone like you would be nothing but a distraction. No offense.”

“Uh-huh.” Bill didn't seem to be listening. He removed his ear buds and placed them on his bed before he got out of the bed, his grin growing still. He wiped the dust from his jeans. “But if I may have permission to ask _why_ you don't like me, that would be simply wonderful, dear.”

“You may.”

 _And don't call me “dear."_ Probably not the best idea to say that out loud.

Bill raised an eyebrow. Asking.

Dipper frowned. “Well, uh…” He lightly bit down on his bottom lip. Where was he supposed to start? There were a lot of things he didn't like about this guy. “First of all, you play your crappy music too loudly.” He was going to regret this later, wasn't he? “Like, I _really_ don't want to hear that, please. And you also always smell like if death could take a shit in a portable toilet. I don't really know what drugs you've been on, and I don't really care to know, but that bothers me a lot.”

He gestured towards one of the beer bottles on the floor- _near his bed_ \- with his free hand. Now that he was going, he really couldn’t convince himself to stop. “Clean those up, too. You act like you live on the streets. And, in case you didn't notice by now, this place actually isn't the streets. This is supposed to be a dorm room in a really nice and expensive college and I refuse to get into any kind of trouble because you-”

“Wow, okay, jeez.” Bill held up his hands in mock defeat, now starting to walk across the room to Dipper. That wasn't a good sign. “Wow. Okay. You like complaining, I get it.” Oh God, curse his shit-eating grin. “But, from what I heard and what I can see, you don't like the things I _do._ You never once had any kind of complaint about my _personality_ or my _appearance,_ and I'm going to consider that some sort of sign.”

Dipper blushed lightly, pressing his back to the door and frantically trying to get a firm hold on the doorknob. “W-Well, yeah," he muttered, barely even hearing his own voice, “but I've only known you for- what? Six days?- so of course I don't know much of anything about who you are as a person, besides how you've been acting and what someone else told me.”

Bill's eyes brightened at that. “Oh, really? Huh. So who told you about me? Maybe I could have a chat with them later…”

“ _No one._ ” Then, taking a deep breath, “No one. It was no one important. It's nothing, okay?”

“Well, what did they say about me?” Why was his voice so creepily calm? “Come on, speak up. I hope it was nothing too bad.”

Dipper grimaced. “That doesn't matter either.”

“Tell me, kid." Bill said, stopping now. They were only standing a few feet apart, “if someone was talking shit about _you,_ wouldn't you want to know who said it and what they said? I mean, after all, who the fuck would want someone to talk shit about them?

“Someone who's deaf, probably, because they wouldn't have anything to hear in the first place.” He shook his head, lightly. “But I can _hear,_ Pine Tree, and what I want to _hear_ right now is you telling me who was talking shit.”

Grinding his teeth together, Dipper now growled, “Well, do you want to know what _I_ think about you? Because _I_ think that you're a persistent, annoying, overconfident asshole who has no type of concern for anyone but himself. I don't necessarily think the person who told me about you wouldn't even have _needed_ to say anything, because most of the things they told me about you were probably facts I could have found out on my own. So _kiss my ass._ ”

An arm slammed onto the door next to Dipper's head, pinning him, and he glared up at Bill, who was laughing crazily. He wiped a tear that formed with one hand and sniffed, as if everything Dipper was saying was just some kind of joke.

When his laugh finally calmed he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Wow, huh. That's _really_ how you feel about me, then?”

Never in his life had Dipper ever met someone quite as different as Bill. Everything he did was stupid and just flat-out _annoying,_ not to mention he had some kind of God-complex going for him. Dipper just wanted to...to…

What _did_ he want to do?

He let out a long breath through his nose, his face contorted into an adorable pout. _Ugh._ This guy was just so... _infuriating_. Suddenly the thought of moving his room seemed so much more tempting. Anything to get away from this pain in the ass.

“Yes," he said, quietly, then met Bill's gaze and nodded. He raised his voice, trying his best to ignore how it cracked on some words. “ _Yes._ I. Don't. Like. You. Okay? Okay. I have absolutely no interest in you, nor do I want to _ever_ even _want_ to consider becoming friends with someone like yo- Are you even listening to me?”

Bill was laughing again _._ At _him._

The blond lowered his head and placed the hand that wasn't pinning Dipper over his mouth, hiding an obvious chuckle. His pale face was alight and glowing with amusement, his sharp teeth showing through his fingers. He was wheezing now, chest heaving as if he was suffering. And Dipper wished that he was. He eventually lifted his head and met the other's gaze, his grin fading into what seemed like a genuine smile.

“I can take a hint, kid.”

Good.

Bill was now leaning in uncomfortably close, his terrible breath brushing Dipper’s lips. Obvious amusement showed when the other shivered. “...I mean, it's obvious by now that you have a crush on me.”

What?!

“ _Excuse me?"_ Dipper shrieked, placing his hands on Bill's chest and attempting to push him away. “What the actual _fuck_ is wrong with you? I _hate_ you.”

Bill took a step back, letting him go, and licked his lips. “You can probably imagine how many times I hear things like that in a day alone.” Then he tapped his chin in thought. “But people who say things like _that_ to me usually get their asses handed to them.” He winked, adding, “You're lucky I'm letting you off easy.”

Dipper huffed, secretly glad that he had space but somewhat missing the warmth. He mentally slapped himself, stepping away from the door and storming past Bill to get to his bed, his voice laced with sarcasm as he said, “Oh, gosh, I can't possibly imagine anyone wanting to hate someone like _you_ . Because I completely and utterly _adore_ you, I am not worthy to be graced in your Godly precense, my lord.”

Bill crossed his arms over his chest. “While I do enjoy being worshipped once in a while, I don't think I appreciate your tone. It's not everyday I just let someone go after they treat me like a piece of shit.” _Yes, you said that before,_ Dipper wanted to retort, but didn't. “You, my friend, have just begun down a road that you aren't going to enjoy.”

For some reason Dipper wasn't doubting him.


	3. Love is Misunderstood

If Dipper could pick a favorite time of day to read, it would be late at night through early in the morning. After all, it was just so _peaceful_ \- not to mention that it was at this time that Dipper wouldn't have to put up with Bill's constant ruckus.

His books were quite literally the only things that were keeping him sane.

And now the book was just beginning to get good. Kevin was just about to reveal his feelings for Tulip…

_Tulip took a deep breath, her heart thundering in her chest. She grabbed the other's hand and squeezed, entwining their fingers together._

_Kevin's eyes met hers and she felt her mouth go dry. She had so much to say to him but didn't know where to start…Oh, goodness, he was about to say something now._

_“Tulip,I-”_

A low sigh from across the room made Dipper sit upright and look up from the book, placing it in his lap and using his thumb to keep the spot he'd been on. He immediately gazed across the room, directing his attention to the source of the sudden noise.

Of _course_ he knew it was Bill. After all, who would possibly be in his own dorm room besides his roommate? But, even so, he couldn't help but be startled by it, like a child trying to hide something from their parents. If Bill caught him reading one of Mabel's cheesy romance novels...Oh, boy. He'd never let him live that down. It would be terrible.

The thought alone was enough to make Dipper pull his bed sheets even further over himself despite the agonizing late summer heat. Curse the air conditioner for deciding not to work on a night like this.

It wasn't that he actually _wanted_ to read one of _these_ books. Mabel herself had been the one who shoved them in his duffel bag last minute, telling him that he absolutely positively _needed_ to read them, even if it killed him because they were simply the best. Dipper was sure that she would've gone on a rant about how emotionally connected the characters were and whatnot if it hadn't been for the sweet, sweet blessing of the final calling for his plane to Gravity Falls. He'd nodded at his sister and made a quick getaway, promising to himself that he'd never read these books ever. At the time he'd been disgusted but only decided to bring them along anyway as to not hurt her feelings.

The covers of the books alone were enough to make him gag, not to mention the descriptions on the back. It didn't take a genius to tell the characters were going to get frisky at one point or another, in all of the books. Why on earth did Mabel think he would enjoy something like this? He could barely even handle the Talk at school without having to go to the nurse for throwing up.

Somehow, though, as if by some type of dark magic, Dipper found himself taking one of the books out of his bag and cracking open the cover. He turned the smooth pages carefully past the title and the table of contents to the first page of the actual story- the prolouge. Which didn't turn out to be too bad, actually. It actually captured his interest. And after that he read the first chapter, then the second, then the third...Only a few hours later and he was already on chapter sixteen, just about halfway through the novel.

Unfortunately this was only part one of the very suspenseful trilogy, and he knew already he was going to read the next two books as well...and the other books that Mabel packed as well. So he had a lot to read during these long ten school months.

 _Alright,_ he thought, and when he was sure that Bill wasn't awake, opened the book and leaned back against the headboard. Once he regained his comfortable position he began to read, once again getting caught up in the compelling lives of Kevin and Tulip. Their relationship had it's ups and downs, sure, but it was going to be in _this_ moment that all those awful struggles would have been worth it.

 _Squeezing her hand with all his might, Kevin too found himself at a loss for words. How could he possibly tell her how he felt at a moment like_ this? _She probably still hated him after the argument they had._

 _No, she doesn't,_ Dipper thought in frustration at the book, pulling it closer to his face despite the fact that he knew it could possibly damage his eyesight in the long run. _Just tell her how you feel, man! She knows you didn't mean to yell at her._ ...Not like the characters in the book could hear him, but he was deeply connected to _all_ the stories he read. And just because this one was cheesy and cliché didn't make it any kind of exception.

_“I like you a lot, Tulip.”_

Dipper was about to complain about how utterly _weak_ that was until he heard Bill shift in his bed from across the room. He lowered his book again and looked back, making sure that he wasn't awake. Because there was no way he could see him reading this.

The blond was now facing towards him, his mouth slightly agape as he let out soft and light breaths. He actually looked...peaceful.

His face was calm and content, his chest heaving slowly with each and every inhale and exhale. Even his freckles looked more soothing in this state, seeming to- dare Dipper say it- make his face look _cute._ Why hadn't he paid attention to how he looked before? He didn't know. But wow.

Some of Bill's hair was sticking up in random places, making Dipper smile ever so slightly. What was it about how he looked that made him just want to walk across the room and reach out, taking those beautiful blond locks in between his fingers and-

 _No._ Dipper shook his head and let out the breath he didn't even know he'd been holding in. He glanced back down at his book, scrunched up his nose in distaste, hastily deciding that he had enough reading for one night. These romance novels were actually starting to get to his head, making him think that Bill was actually a good person. Ha! Could you imagine?

The brunet ran the hand that wasn't holding the book through his bangs, attempting to calm his stupid heart, trying to remind himself of all the reasons why Bill _wasn't_ as innocent as he looked while he slept.

It had been two days since their unwanted discussion and, even though neither had spoken to each other since then, things overall seemed to be so much more intense than before. Bill now _never_ left the room (for whatever he usually did) for a reason not known to Dipper, and whenever he had come back from hanging out with Pacifica he was greeted with Bill's suspicious gaze.

He found out rather quickly that it was because Bill wanted to know who he was hanging out with and where he was and what he was doing at all times. Like some kind of mom. But Bill most certainly _wasn't_ Dipper's mom- thank God for that- and what Dipper did in his free time was none of his concern.

Besides, why should something like that even matter to him? It was none of his damn business! But of course this wasn't actually said out loud by Dipper for a lot of obvious reasons.

What Dipper wanted _right now,_ however, was to focus on his book, but he couldn't even do that, and once again this was due to his stupid roommate. He angrily folded over the corner of the page he was on the hold his spot and shoved the book under his pillow to save for a later time. _Guess what happens between Kevin and Tulip will just have to wait,_ he thought, pushing his blanket away.

He'd finish it another time. Probably. Eventually. If he could get his fucking brain to work the way it was supposed to. And “working the way it was supposed to” meant _not_ thinking about Bill and focusing on the things that actually mattered in his life.

_Ugh._

God, why? _Why_ couldn't he get his mind off the guy sleeping peacefully across the room? Was it because he actually looked handsome despite the fact he was a complete and utter jerk? Or that his asshole motives were actually kind of funny, in a weird and fucked up sort of way? Or, maybe, could it be that Dipper thought that the odd color of his eyes happened to actually be kind of intriguing? Even a little? Possibly?

Although Dipper had been less cross with him since the time they had their talk, he constantly had to remind himself why they had even gotten into that talk into the first place; because Bill couldn't handle the freaking fact that some people on the planet actually _didn't_ like him. Why did that even matter to him, anyway? Plenty of people didn't like Dipper and he was perfectly okay with that, but he supposed it had to do with Bill being the type of guy that needed _everyone_ to like him because he was some kind of attention whore.

The scene kept playing over and over in Dipper's mind- the anger, the yelling, the pure hatred... Bill invading his personal space-

 _Enough!_ Dipper grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, his teeth grinding together in seething rage. His blood was practically boiling at this point, both with anger and some other type of emotion that he couldn't quite figure out at this moment in time. _All you ever do is think! Stop that!_

He needed to stop thinking of these things. He needed to focus on what was really important, and that was his education. From now on, he decided, everything else was just a distraction, Bill included.

Once class started in six days Dipper was sure that things would only get better for him. After all, not only would he see Bill less often, but he could also finally get his priorities in order. He wasn't exactly the kind of guy who got bored easily, but he knew that he'd only get himself so far with Mabel's dumb (yet kind of interesting) books and exploring the dormitories. Right now what he needed was a textbook to crack open and a large test worth half his overall grade to study. _All good things come in time,_ he supposed.

Sure, his love for school and studying was _probably_ the reason why he never did have very many friends, but he didn't mind it much. If there was one thing that his parents had told him when he was a kid, and they told him a lot of things, it was that school wasn't a place for people to go to make friends; it was a place meant to go to retrieve education and learn the skills necessary to survive in the big world, and Dipper sure as hell was going to treat it that way.

He didn't need any friends to become a writer, anyway. That was something he could do all his own, with the exception of help and support of his family.

And, no, it wasn't that he considered Pacifica a _distraction,_ per se. It was just…

Well, he _did_ enjoy her company and like her in a friendly way, however pursuing his degree was his top priority, as it should be her's. As it should be Bill's. As it should be _everyone's,_ because god dammit this was _college._ These were the most important four years of a person's life, when the rest of their days would be determined. How could someone possibly _not_ take it seriously?

Casting a quick glance at Bill, Dipper assumed that he was one of the people who _didn't_ take school seriously. He even had all the signs that proved so- overconfidence, popularity, a shit ton of fangirls... _Ew._ Who did _he_ bribe to get into a school like this, because Dipper was certain that he couldn't have gotten in by meeting all the requirements. And meanwhile there were people who spent their entire _lives_ striving to get into a good college.

It was unfair.

 _Why on Earth am I getting so worked up over this?_ Dipper thought, looking down at his watch and, noting that it was 7:30 a.m., had to take a moment to realize that he'd been up for basically the entire night reading. _Oh boy._ _Guess I was really into the book, huh?_ He rubbed one of his eyes tiredly with one hand then lowered his fist to yawn into it, suddenly having regrets on his decision.

Okay, so getting no sleep probably wasn't one of his best decisions, but he was sure it'd only been 10:00 p.m. when he first opened the book. Although he was also sure that was the time when he'd promised himself that he would only read the first few pages.

Getting out of his bed as slowly and as carefully as possible, stopping each time the mattress creaked and glancing across the room to make sure Bill wasn't awake, he stood and cracked his stiff back. Was this really how old people felt all the time?

He made his way to the bathroom and locked the door once he was inside, turning and looking at his reflection in the mirror.

 _I'm a mess!_ There were bags under his eyes, which were red and puffy from the lack of sleep, and his hair was much messier than he was normally used to, not to mention that his face itself was a light shade of pink from how hot the room was and being under the think sheets.

He ran his tongue over his teeth slowly, gagged at the taste- was it even _possible_ to taste morning breath?- and frantically reached for his toothbrush, which was resting on the side of the sink next to Bill's yellow one. _What is up with that guy and the color yellow?_

He turned on the water and grabbed the minty toothpaste from the cabinet above the sink in one quick motion, twisting the top off and squeezing a bit of it onto the brush. Humming, he wet the brush under he water for a second before turning the water off and and angrily brushing his teeth. All a part of his normal morning routines.

Most people would say that Dipper was “too organized” with everything, but he didn't think so. Just because he liked to have every moment of every day planned out didn't make him obsessive, it made him _careful._ Like how a part of today's schedule included him brushing his teeth for exactly two minutes, as he was doing now, then going to the school's cafeteria to get a bagel and maybe hot chocolate for breakfast. And, after that, he was going to the dollar store that was only a few blocks away from the school to buy a few last minute supplies for classes. One could never have too many note cards, as he always told himself.

A crude knock on the bathroom door was what brought him out of his planning. He rolled his eyes and ignored it, moving the brush in his grasp to reach his top right molars. If Bill was going to be an asshole and interrupt him, then he was going to have to wait his turn to use the bathroom.

Dipper spat out the toothpaste in his mouth into the sink, turning on the water again and placing the toothbrush down so he could cup water into his hands. He brought it to his mouth and gurgled a moment before spitting out the remains as well, turning off the water one last time before he grabbed a nearby towel to dry off his face.

There was yet another knock on the door as he did so, this one louder. Groaning, Dipper let out an exasperated, “Hold on!” and hung the towel back up on its rack. He stormed over the the door and flung it open with as much force as he could muster, grinning at the loud bang it made when it collided with Bill's head. The other muttered a loud “Fuck!” that Dipper was sure people across the street would be able to hear.

“What the hell was that for?” Bill demanded, gripping the edge of the door with one hand while the other applied pressure to his forehead. He probably had a bruise. “Fucking jackass.”

“Good morning, sunshine." Dipper replied happily, laughing.  “You seem to have slept well last night, considering that you're already so keyed up to bother me while I'm getting ready in the bathroom.”

Bill snickered, his sourness suddenly seeming to disappear, and he leaned against the doorframe to allow Dipper to pass. “I did, and I am.” He slowly peeled the hand away from his forehead and, as Dipper thought, there was a purple bruise visible through his blond strands. “You, on the other hand, look like a zombie. Some before-class jitters, I see.” He turned around to face Dipper and crossed his arms, adding quite confidently, “Something like that is perfectly normal for freshman. But I can tell you with complete honesty that this is my fourth year here and this place isn't exactly mountains upon mountains of stress, despite how much rave it gets. Most of the professors are secretly idiots.”

Dipper walked across the room and opened the top drawer of the dresser next to his bed, nodding. He pulled out a red T-shirt then slammed the drawer closed and opened the one below it, grabbing a pair of jeans before closing it as well. He placed his gathered clothes on the bed before replying, “Oh, really? Wow, that sucks. I was kind of hoping that I would get some kind of challenge out of this place.” And that wasn't exactly a lie. “But I'm fine without your advice, thanks.”

“Pfft. The classes may not be tough, but seeing you I'm sure as hell that the other students are gonna kick your ass.” Bill tilted his head slightly. “How old are you, kid?”

“That isn't really any of your business," the brunet replied, removing his pajama top, “but if you must know, I'm eighteen. My birthday is on the last day of August.”

A thoughtful hum. “That's in five days, not to mention the day before classes start up.” Bill let out a low wolf whistle, and Dipper was sure it wasn't because of what he was saying, which made him hastily grab at the shirt he had picked out. “If I had known this before I would have gotten you a present.”

Dipper cringed at that.

“Luckily for you, however, I am actually great under pressure. I'll probably be able to get you some type of present last minute. Gravity Falls is _full_ of weird and creative shops.”

Dipper now laughed. If it wasn't for the fact that he was shirtless, he would've sounded more confident when he replied, “Uh, yeah, no thanks, pal. I don't really need any presents, especially not from jerks like you.” He began to slip his shirt on, finally feeling less exposed. Before he realized he needed to change his pants. “But if it makes you feel any better about yourself, I'm not stopping you.”

“And how could I get you something to make me feel better about _myself?_ I'm not sure that's how things like that work.”

Hesitantly, Dipper began to kick off his shorts. He quickly turned away so he couldn't see the other's reaction, but he could _feel_ his grin. “Well, you'll feel all great and amazing and proud of yourself because you actually did something nice for a person for once in your life. Then cue even more overconfidence, and that's literally the last thing I want more of from you. So you're better off not buying me anything.”

Bill raised an eyebrow and pushed away from the doorframe. “As I see it, buying _you_ a present would just be an overall waste of my money, considering that you would probably just throw it out right in front of me-"

“And I would…”

Bill waved his hand dismissively. “Buying you something would have to be done with the greatest kindness in my heart. And I actually _was_ considering it, mind you, before you decided to start acting like an ungrateful bitch. My kindness is officially gone.”

“You threatened me two days ago!” Dipper snapped back.

When the other didn't reply to that he sighed and pulled on his jeans. “Well, fine. Okay. I don't want your stupid kindness." He growled, “because I don't want you to have any sort of friendliness towards me. I'd die before becoming acquainted with someone such as you. You're the kind of guy my dad would chase down the streets of Piedmont with a loaded shotgun. ...And, unfortunately, something like that actually has happened before.”

Bill's eyes widened. “That's a story I'm interested in hearing.”

“But that story isn't my point." Dipper replied, sighing. Then, after a moment of thought, “Or even my story to tell.” He cleared his throat, desperate to change topics. “My point is this; if you're the kind of person my parents would want me to stay away from, then I sure am going to try my damn hardest to do just that. We on the same page?”

Slight hesitation, but Bill nodded after a few moments. His grin faded into a slight frown, a sight that Dipper wasn't particularily used to when it came to him. “Alright, I get it. You think I'm a-” He paused to make air quotes. “ ‘bad boy,’ but I assure you that I don't fit into such an unnecessary category.” He began to tap his chin in thought. “I'm more of a ‘misunderstood jock' kind of guy.”

Dipper blinked, confused. “How on earth are you misunderstood? Literally half the girls in this place practically lust for you, plus the fact that the professors seem to love you-” He kicked at one of the infamous beer bottles on the floor, licking his lips, trying to find words. “They love you because you act like a good guy when you're actually aren't. You're just... just this dumb guy-”

“That spends all his time drinking and doing drugs." Bill finished. He shrugged. “It's kind of like a secret life I've had for the past three years.”

“You could get in trouble.”

“And that's why it's fun, stupid.” Bill walked over and picked up the bottle the other had kicked, running one his thumbs over the smooth, green glass. His grin returned and he added, “It's so easy to hide. Nobody's smart enough to look and that, my friend, is just the way I like it.” Before Dipper could offer any sort of reply he turned back around and walked straight into the bathroom, slamming the door behind himself. It locked with a soft click.


	4. Love is Painful

Dipper sighed and slouched down onto his bed, bringing one hand up to rub at his aching temples, his fingers lightly brushing over his namesake. Just _talking_ to Bill was enough to give him a splitting headache, that was for sure, and it most certainly wasn't something pleasant, much less something that he was ever planning to want to get used to.

He pulled his hand away after a moment and began to curl and uncurl his fingers impatiently, allowing a new wave of anger and frustration to wash over him. Who did this guy think he _was,_ walking around like he owned the place, treating him like a piece of shit? And, oh God, his horrible _odor._ Dipper sure hoped that he would take a shower while he was in the bathroom, because he smelled like fucking _weed._ Which, admittedly, is probably what he'd been smoking.

Speaking of showers…

_Shit._

Had Dipper _actually_ forgotten to take one when he was in the bathroom? Apparently. But, even so, it wasn't even his fault! Bill was the one who decided to be a jerk and knock on the door and-

Well, Dipper supposed that he could've just ignored it and continued on with his normal morning routine. After all, Bill would've had to have gone away eventually. Right?

 _Eh, whatever. I took a shower last night before I started reading, anyway. I can take a shower when I get back later today._ He turned to look across the room and out the large window that showed a view of the forest, right next to Bill's bed, trying to think of _anything_ but the fact that he had gotten dressed in front of Bill. He stayed this way for just about the next twenty minutes, eyes darting around the room as if he didn't already know the place by heart, playing with his bangs, humming thoughtfully, once again thinking over what he was planning to do today. But in the end his mind kept drifting back to his stupid roommate in the bathroom.

Blush beginning to spread to his neck and ears, he chewed on his bottom lip and gripped the sheets of his own bed, the soft fabric digging into his nails. What the hell was wrong with him? He could've just gone into the bathroom and gotten dressed and...and…

 _Ugh. Whatever,_ he thought, taking a deep breath and reaching down to grab his sneakers, which were lying at the side of his bed. He slipped them onto his feet and tied them- double knot, like he always did- and stood, deciding that he should probably be heading out by now. He wasn't in the mood to see Bill when he got out of the bathroom, nor did he want to hear him go off on another weird and pointless rant.

After a moment of hesitation and consideration he headed across the room in a few quick and hurried strides, knocking lightly on the bathroom door. _It'd be rude to just leave without telling him, right?_ But since when did he even care about what Bill thought?

He didn't wait for a reply before saying, “So I think I'm just gonna go now, considering that you kind of stole my turn in the bathroom.” _Like the selfish jerk you are._ “I think I'll be back later, or whatever. Have fun.” He pressed one of his ears to the door, listening, waiting for some type of reaction and, when there was none, shrugged it off and turned around so he could leave.

When he was about to reach the door there was a loud and desperate “ _Wait_ ” from the bathroom, capturing his attention. He stopped in his tracks and turned back around, blinking. _So that wasn't expected,_ he mused. “Just...hold on. Don't go yet. I still gotta take a shit.”

“I don't think I needed to know that, thanks," the brunet chuckled in reply, though secretly his stomach was clenching and sweat was once again forming on his forehead. “You can just, you know, take your time.” What exactly did Bill want him to stay for? Was he angry? Did he want something? Dipper didn't _think_ that he had anything the blond would want, aside from a few books and maybe a pencil or two. Or money. Bill seemed like the kind of guy that would beat him up for money, although he didn't even have much. “But what is it?”

There wasn't a reply from the other, like before, and for a moment Dipper thought about just leaving anyway. What did he care about what Bill wanted, anyway? He had a schedule to uphold, and he really didn't want to jeopardize it just because this guy was taking forever in the bathroom.

It kind of reminded him of when he was back in California, ever frustrated because Mabel took a long time in the bathroom as well. His mom always told him it was because she had different needs than him, that of which he didn't really understand until health class in middle school had decided to become relatively detailed.

But he most certainly didn't want to think about _that._

Dipper headed back to the bathroom door and pressed himself flush against it now, his ear beginning to ache from being pressed against the hard wood. _What the hell? What is he doing that takes so long?_ For a second or two he was sure that he heard running water, but it was cut off abrubtly and came the shuffling of clothes. _Ah._ So Bill had been taking a shower.

He pulled away from the door as a way to allow him some peace and stood a few feet away, rubbing one arm awkwardly as he impatiently waited for the other to finish up.

A few minutes later and the door did eventually open, Bill walking out with his hair soaking wet and plastered to his forehead, his yellow towel slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, bare foot. It took a few seconds for him to notice Dipper standing there but, when he did, raised an eyebrow at him.

Dipper only smiled like an idiot, running his tongue along his teeth before saying, “Oh, uh, hello. Fancy meeting you here.” _Was that seriously the best I could come up with?_ he mentally added, stuffing his hands in his pockets. _Just...use the right words._ “So what do you want?”

Bill grinned. “Listening in on what I was doing in the bathroom, huh?” Dipper was going to ask how he knew that when he continued, “Well, I guess I can't blame ya. Who knows if I was constipated or not?” It was relatively difficult not to pick up on the sarcasm in his tone. He folded his arms behind his back and pushed past the other, their shoulders brushing as he did so. “Or is there the slight possibility that there's that crush you don't know how to handle correctly?”

Blushing, Dipper took a deep breath before turning to face him. “I thought we established the fact that I hate you already," he muttered, the words flowing out slower than how he wanted them to. “I...What did you want me to stay for? I kind of have things to do today, in case you haven't noticed.” He paused a moment for emphasis and added, “ _Important_ things.”  Of course, he knew what he had to do wasn't really all that important or special. It was just a normal day. But it would an understatement if he said he'd rather spend the night at a cemetery than a moment here with his roommate.

“Well," Bill replied, throwing his head back with a mischievous light in his golden eyes, “I kind of just wanted to see if you were actually going to stay behind or not.”

_What?!_

He laughed at Dipper's obvious anger, throwing his towel onto his bed and beginning to walk towards him all in one fluid movement. “And, since you actually did, I'm assuming that you actually _do_ enjoy my company. Or at least you don't hate me as much as you keep saying you do.” His grin widened to shit-eating level. “Surprise, surprise.”

Dipper wrinkled his nose in disgust and clenched his hands into fists, his own nails digging into his palms, aching somewhat. But he didn't care about that right now. It took him a moment to come up with what to say, but when he did he let out a strangled, “I _don't_ enjoy your company. At all.”

Bill only hummed. _He doesn't believe me._

The younger male's chest was heaving now, with anger or hatred or something unrecognizable he couldn't tell. “And, just so you know, I only stayed behind because you probably would've beat me up if I hadn't.” At least that wasn't a lie. “If you actually think I have any sort of feelings for you, you must be delusional or something. Besides, why does it even matter to you if I stayed here? What kind of point are you trying to prove? I'm sure you have girls to sleep with, anyway, so why don't you go and try to win _them_ over and leave _me_ the fuck alone!”

He hadn't realized his voice was rising until last minute but he was too frustrated to even notice, much less care. All that mattered in this moment was Bill and how horrible a person he was, and how much Dipper just wanted to _strangle_ him. He unconsciously raised a fist and collided it with the wall, so hard that he heard muffled complaints from the people in the room next door.

 _Oh, just shut up!_ he thought, grinding his teeth together before directing his anger at the person who really deserved it. And, currently, that person’s face still had that stupid grin.

“What _is_ it with you and acting like you're some type of...god?” he pressed on, walking towards Bill and angrily pushing a finger to his chest. “Just because you're unnaturally attractive doesn't make you better than anyone else, in case you're too stubborn to notice, and if you think I'm going to sit back and _take_ your bulllshit, you have another thing coming!”

He pulled his hand away and glared up at the blond, his face contorted into an angry pout. He breathed heavily through his nose, trying to take a few breaths before continuing, any thought of merely storming off completely clouded by his fury. Their faces were inches apart and the hand that was still clenched into a fist was practically itching to punch something.

He opened his mouth to speak again, a new wave of complaints and insults ready to fly out his mouth, when suddenly his wrists were pulled into a vice grip by Bill himself. He groaned painfully as the other's nails dug into his wrists, scratching his skin, and he forced his eyes shut. Hot breath brushed his face and now Bill was speaking, his voice much more threatening than he ever heard before.

Bill laughed manically, his eyes alight with amusement. “Oh-ho! Oh, kid! You've _really_ gone and done it now. I'd say that I'm actually fucking pissed.” His grip tightened, Dipper biting down on his bottom lip to prevent himself from screaming. “You've got a lot of nerve, talking to me like that! You actually think you're tough? Well, reality check, you really, really aren't.”

His eyes were now looking over the younger male's form. “I mean, just look at you! No muscles, no _claws-_ ” Now Dipper was _sure_ that Bill's nails had broken his skin. A drop of blood fell onto the cream colored carpet. “You're all brain, kid. And trust me when I say that brain isn't going to get you far. I can only handle so much fucking quips from people like you without breaking a bone or two. Or three.” He laughed again.

“At least _I'm_ not a pain in everyone's ass!” Dipper snapped back, slowly and painfully opening one eye so he could at least look at the other. If the deadly look on his face wasn't terrifying enough… “At least _I'm_ not a jerk! At least _I_ don't sleep with fourty girls a week. At least _I_ don't smell like marijuana constantly! At least _I'm_ not a slob who leaves beer bottles lying around in my dorm room!”

Dare he say it? “At least I'm not _you._ ”

Bill seemed taken aback by this, giving Dipper the perfect opportunity to continue. “Sure, fine, I _get_ it, okay? You're _so_ perfect and hot so you can get all the girls you want! That's great! You're adored by everyone! Also great! But that _doesn't_ mean you have to look down on everyone else! You could hurt your neck that way, you know,” he muttered, managing to pry himself out of Bill's grasp. He rubbed one wrist, cringing slightly. “At first I thought having a college roommate was going to be cool, but I guess I was wrong if I got someone like you.”

Now Bill's face contorted into something so much more terrifying, and he took a step closer, as if he was going to do something drastic. His upper lip curled into a snarl, his sharp teeth very visible, his eyes no longer alight, but now blazing with malice. He suddenly grasped one of Dipper's arms and pulled him closer, nails now digging into the fleshy part below his elbow, making the brunet hiss in pain.

 _Fuck._ Dipper attempted to pry himself away again unsuccessfully, only to get pulled closer by the other. He shut his eyes once again and uncurled his fingers, trying to calm their twitching, praying right then that nothing bad would happen to him. He was going to be lucky if he only walked out of this with a broken rib or two, he supposed. Bill probably wanted to kill him by now.

“You got something else to say, wise guy?” Bill hissed, his mouth dangerously close to Dipper's ear. His eyes narrowed into yellow slits. “Because, oh please, _do_ tell! Let me know what else ticks you off, _Pine Tree,_ because in a few moments you aren't going to be able to feel _anything._ ”

One of his hands moved up to grip Dipper's throat, making him shake his head wildly. He opened his mouth a let out a few short, shallow breaths, trying to find the rights words to say. “No. _No._ God, _no._ I don't have anything else to say, I swear! I'm sorry!” But that was a lie. There were a lot more things that he wanted to say, that he wanted to point out, that he wanted to climb onto the top of the school and shout to the heavens, but he knew that it wasn't the best time to say them for his own sake. He brought up his free hand to place upon the one Bill had around his throat, their fingers brushing lightly. “If you're going to kill me, please _please_ just do it _now._ I'd rather die from that then the painful agony of losing oxygen.”

Bill was quiet for a moment or two, his jaw clenched and the hand that had a hold of the brunet's arm tightening. He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but shut it quickly. And then, _finally,_ he released the other completely and pushed him away slightly. “Fine.”

Dipper sighed in relief and brushed away some of the blood that was still coming out one of his wrists, eyes occasionally glancing up nervously to see what Bill was going to do next. He was still glaring at him, that was for certain, and he still looked completely and utterly pissed off. It was hard for Dipper to restrain the shiver that was threatening to hit his spine. He was completely caught of gaurd when Bill spoke again.

“But, you know, there's still something I need to do.”

Dipper raised an eyebrow and was about to ask what he meant when suddenly the air was knocked out of his lungs and he fell backwards, hitting the ground butt-first with a soft thump.

He groaned again and rubbed at his now stinging jaw, tasting the blood that was pooling from his tongue when he bit it. He was sure that's not all he was bleeding from, though. Some of the warm red liquid was starting to dribble down the side of his mouth, towards his chin, some drops even daring to land on his shirt and the ground.

It took a few moments for his head to clear and his eyes to finally adjust, but when they did he looked up at Bill, who stood above him with the fist he used to punch him still clenched. And, no surprise there, he seemed relatively pleased with the pained boy on the ground, humming happily and turning on his heels towards the room door.

Dipper watched him head out wordlessly, still rubbing at his aching jaw. He didn't have anything to say and, even if he did, it would've hurt if he tried to say it.

* * *

 

For one of the first times in his life, Dipper actually ignored his plans for the day and simply lounged around his room.

He didn't leave his dorm room at all for the entire day, getting rid of his bloody shirt and taking that well-deserved shower, even eventually finding the courage to have a video chat with Mabel and tell her _everything._

Surprisingly she didn't have all that much to say, listening in on his every word and, when he finished, telling him to _seriously_ consider getting his room moved if Bill was that much of a problem, and he hung up their call with the promise that he would. And so he spent the next few hours with his face buried in his knees, crying because of both the pain in his jaw and the fact that Bill was the only person that managed to get under his skin in such a way that he _almost wanted_ to get drunk or high (or whatever the heck Bill did) just so he could get him off his mind and out of his life.

Bill wasn't in the room since their argument, which was why Dipper had gotten so much peace and, unfortunately, it wound up causing the poor boy more stress than relaxation. For a reason unknown to him he actually _hated_ the silence surrounding him and longed for Bill to barge into the room and cut it off.

Out of his boredom he got out of bed and forced himself to pick up all the beer bottles off the floor, putting them into a garbage bag and shoving it under Bill's bed in some sort of haste. _If it's his mess,_ he thought bitterly as he did so, _then he can get rid of it himself._

He was sure he had also missed a call or two from Pacifica, but that was simply because he didn't care to answer his phone. He knew already she was going to ask where he was and why he had suddenly ditched their plans to have a walk in the park- which he was, but he didn't actually want to _tell_ her that- so he turned off his phone altogether. It wasn't like he was going to use it for anything tonight, anyway, because currently all his stupid brain seemed to want was to lie down in bed and think about Bill. That of which was absolutely, one-hundred percent _not okay._

Now it was past ten p.m. and Dipper's eyes were red and puffy from crying, his heart aching for some reason and his jaw still stinging with pain. He would've gone to go get some pain medicine, but all he wanted right now was to not do that. And this he was fine with. His bed suddenly seemed way too cozy to get out of.

 _Why hasn't Bill come back yet?_ He glanced towards the door, expecting the older male to burst through smelling like drugs and alcohol and, when he didn't, instead pulled his covers over himself and closed his eyes. _I sure hope he, like, didn't die._ Because why on earth would he even consider wishing that upon _anyone?_

But he knew he did, at some point or another. At some point or another he hoped with all his heart that Bill died doing whatever he was doing, that he just _dropped dead._

Why was he regretting it?

Shaking his head, Dipper laid his head onto his pillow and yawned lightly, deciding that it was time for him to go to bed. If Bill wasn't back in the morning, then...Well, he supposed if _that_ happened then he would do nothing but cry more.

He fell asleep drowning in his own frenzied thoughts, knowing before he lost consciousness that he was going to have one hell of a dream.

Sometime before he completely went out he was almost positive that he heard the room's door open and close, just as much as the footsteps that approached his bed. He was also sure that he felt foul breath brush his face, right before warm lips were pressed onto his cheek.

But he was too tired to be sure if it was real.


	5. Love is Frustrating

Sometimes, especially when stressed, the best thing for Bill Cipher was a cigarette, maybe even two, if he was in a particularly sour mood. But today he was going to smoke three, because he was _more_ than in just a particularly sour mood. He was _extremely_ angry, for more reason than just one, and one of those dumb little reasons just happened to be his insanely annoying dorm roommate.

And to think that he'd recently been trying to “better himself as a person," trying his damned hardest to keep his anger under control. He'd been told on more than one occasion that he got upset way too easily for his own good, which was very true, of course, but still relatively irritating and frustrating to hear nonetheless.

But now here he was, his shit long lost and a thin brown and white cigarette burning between his lips, the smoke taking up his vision, and his fist aching slightly from the blow he had landed upon that brat of a roommate- and that blow was something the kid had practically been _begging_ for.

Of course. He was from a city somewhere, Bill was sure. Only people like that had such overbearing and obnoxious overconfident attitudes, so much that it was actually kind of disgusting.

All people from the city were the same, was what he'd been told for years, acting as if they were smarter, better, and more well-rounded just because they had benefits that people who lived in small towns and remote places did not. Bill himself had never been a fan of cities, they were much too loud and full of too many kinds of people, most of them who cared more for themselves and the money they earned rather than the land and the wonderful benefits they had access to or took for granted.

At least, that was what he was told. He barely remembered the time he'd spent in London when he was a baby, but it sounded terrible, based on the memories he could recollect and how his mother would react when the place was mentioned. Gravity Falls was the place he knew, and he knew it well, and it was perfect in his eyes. Maybe a month or two in a small town like this could teach those city people a lesson or two.

In reality, that was all that Dipper Pines was. He was just a boy coming from some city, somewhere, coming to Oregon so he could go to one of the proclaimed best schools in the entire United States and earn his degree in what-fucking-ever. Then, when those four or more years, depending on the degree, were all done and well, he'd just go back to the place from which he came and waste away the rest of his pointless life with a part-time job at McDonald's or something. For the time Bill had been alive it was all that he had seen, so much time thrown away and forgotten, left only to rot. Which kind of made him wonder why he was here, doing what he was doing in the first place.

Ah, yes, it was probably to make his mother proud. His mother, who had a smart mouth and a quick reply, one who had so much to say but wound up sounding like a whack job for saying it.

Bill remembered when he was young and she would tell him what Gravity Falls had been like before the college had been built, then opened in 1983, when she had been but a child herself. The town, as she described, used to be so quiet and unnoticeable, looked over and ignored on maps and and driven past during car trips while people headed to more actual exciting locations, such as Portland or Salem. The only people there were the ones who lived there, along with the casual tourist that came to see the city's main attraction, the Mystery Shack, and the people that lived there never left or ran off somewhere else. This small town was their home for life, and that was that.

But, when the college was built in the downtown area, forget about it. Gravity Falls wasn't as quite as quiet as it used to be, the streets feeling more crowded than they had been before. Since then there were more tourists, most of those people looking to attend this school, and even some more newcomers, littering and polluting and downright ruining the fresh, soft Oregon soil.

Bill's mother had died believing that the school was a curse, and though he knew that she was way too dramatic for anyone's good, including his own, had to take empathy and somewhat understand where she was coming from. What even was the point of trying to reach out and teach people if it was all pointless in the end? All it was honestly, was just a complete and utter waste of time and money.

Bill never really had intended to leave his home town for college, which was probably why the building of the college right in Gravity Falls hadn't been as bad for him. He laughed at how mad his mom would be that he had decided to go _here,_ to this cursed place, but it was simply because he didn't want to go anywhere else. He couldn't possibly imagine leaving Gravity Falls, with it's homely pine scent drifting in from the forest on the outskirts of town and the teeth-rottingly sweet and unhealthy food that came from Greasy's Diner. This town was most definitely the best kind of place to live, that was for certain, but it was _his_ place and that was all that really mattered in the end...at least, in his opinion. The world outside seemed to vast and too wide, with too many idiots and so much crap that he would have to put up with, and he was sure that he had already had too much of _that_ for one lifetime.

He didn't need any more.

But, of course, the universe had other plans for him, deciding to curse him with a college _freshman_ as his roommate. If it had been someone of a higher class, sure, he wouldn't have minded too much- sophomore, junior- considering that these kids had enough college experience to realize that this new place could almost exactly mirror high school. They knew how to conduct themselves around seniors such as himself, and they didn't start any shit, which was nice, which was all very well and good for everyone. It could give him a break and someone wouldn't have to wind up suffering in the hospital. A win-win.

Not that he thought he would have trouble keeping this kid in line- the thought of that was actually laughable. No. If there was one thing he was good at, it was outright intimidating others, maybe even getting them into doing what he wanted, a skill he had in fact had for basically his entire life. Heck, he could even get his mother to give him an extra serving of ice cream when he was a toddler!

It wasn't that he considered himself a bully, no, because he wasn't. He saw himself more as a sensitive type of person, only to give others a piece of his mind when it was completely necessary, such as when they decided to talk shit about him. Otherwise he was a normal, nice guy, but not quite nice enough for friend material, as friends were neither something he wanted nor needed, something that he was actually fine living without.

When people _did_ decide that they wanted to take a push at his buttons, though, oh boy. That was a completely different story, come complete with a much sadder and darker ending. He had a very simple and efficient system for things like this, and it started out with little threats and death glares and ended with a guy paying a hospital bill- and that guy wasn't him, to keep it simple.

He wasn't exactly sure when he had become this type of person, or even if he was ever a nice kid at all, but he supposed it had started some time in intermediate school. He went from the quiet kid at the back of the class with straight A's to the kid who beat up the sixth graders for lunch money and other goodie-goodies, which earned him a lot more respect and fear than he had ever had before, and admittedly he had kind of enjoyed all of the attention. He could do whatever he wanted, all he had to do was not get caught, a motto he proceeded to live by even today. And so he could have all the fun that he wanted, what could possibly be better than that?

 _Lots of things. Lots of things were better than that._ But those better things were unattainable for people like him, people who apparently “didn't deserve it,” but whatever. He didn't care what those people had to say regarding that. No one was meant to have a perfect life, a lesson he learned himself a long time ago, and something he was sure everyone who ever had anything to say to him would begin to learn at some point or another.

Bill grasped his cigarette gently between his index and middle fingers, pulling the butt of it out of his mouth and letting out a puff of smoke, letting out a few small coughs and glancing quickly across the room at the sleeping form of Dipper Pines.

That kid though, yeesh. He had a lot of spunk, even for a freshman, which was something that Bill wasn't particularly used to. As one could probably tell, not a lot of people were so brave enough to stand up to him and _not_ be unnerved when he began to become cross with them. It was odd, yet exciting.

Dare he say, kind of hilarious.

Bill smirked and pressed the burning part of the cigarette to his jeans, putting it out, then flicking it across the room and half-heartendly wiping away the ashes that had managed to fall onto his bed sheets, humming ever so softly to himself.

Yes, Dipper Pines certainly was the bravest person he had ever met. And he also most certainly was very different from the other college freshman, who only wanted to party, get drunk, crash, fail all their classes and get kicked out, waste their lives away, die, goodbye.

Dipper actually seemed to _care_ about learning, from all that Bill could possibly see, anyway, which meant that he probably wouldn't have to get much sit from him when classes finally started up in less than a week. And getting no shit was always good shit, as Bill's mom always said.

Cracking his knuckles, Bill leaned back against the headboard while simultaneously pulling his sheets over the lower half of his body. He once again looked over at his roommate, who was sobbing lightly as he slept, and furrowed his brows in slight confusion, trying his best to fight off any temptation to wake the young boy and ask him if everything was alright.

Because, of course, doing something like that would make him look like he actually cared.

* * *

 

The first thing that Bill had done after his latest argument with Dipper was head to Pyronica's dorm, room 603, closer to the end of the hall. A smoke or two with her was always great when he needed it, and today he was thinking a few cigarettes with a ton of beer, enough to make him so drunk that he would fall on his face. He was sure that this would be enough to bring him to his usual spirits, which were somewhere between only mildly angry and _I think I'm gonna punch this guy for fun._

Much to his disappointment, however, 8 Ball had been at her dorm when he arrived, so he couldn't have any time to talk with Pyronica alone. He knew 8 Ball would only make fun of him for having confused feelings about his roommate, maybe give off a suggestive eyebrow wiggle and a extremely inappropriate comment along the lines of "you want it."

This aside, Bill stayed there for just about the entire day, spending the time drinking until he was completely out of it, chatting with Pyronica and 8 Ball about anything but the topic of his college roommate, who was currently doing he-didn't-care-what, probably crying over that little punch, when in reality that was only the tip of the iceberg in what Bill could bring.

He laughed along when 8 Ball began to go on and on about his own roommate, who apparently was also a freshman, name Gideon Gleeful. From what he had said, Gideon was short and pudgy with a pale, freckled face and large white hair, even an annoyingly high and frilly voice to make him all the more creepily adorable. The perfect package.

“...I swear, he literally thinks he's the greatest thing since toilet paper." 8 Ball was saying, his can of beer nearly flying out of his grasp whenever he made a sudden, wild gesture with his arms. It didn't take too long for him to get drunk today, especially after that drinking contest he had with Bill. It was wild. “But, like, come on, I almost _don't_ want to beat the living snot out of him, he's so adorable! It's really hard to take him seriously, you know, his face is so red when he's angry. I honestly can't listen to him yell at me, I can't help but laugh my ass off! You guys have _got_ to meet him so you can make fun of him with me.”

Pyronica laughed at his drunken rants, brushing a piece of her dyed pink hair out her face and casting a quick smile at Bill, her entire face brimming with amusement.

God, every time he looked at her it was like the first. She always looked beautiful, even when she was drunk or high, and especially when she was naked. Her ice blue eyes were just so bright and full of life and excitement, something Bill had never gotten much of when he was a child, probably one of the reasons he had decided to become acquainted with her in the first place.

Some could say that the two of them were dating, which they had been for years, but the truth of it was that they weren't. They weren't even friends, in fact. Bill hadn't any type of love, admiration, adoration, affection, or any other type of strong emotion for her, she was but someone who gave him what he pleased whenever he wanted it. And he gave her what she pleased. That was all that it was, and she knew it, and that was all that it was ever intended to be. Sure, Pyronica still called him things like “babe” and “hon,” but that was only in a teasing manner.

“What's your roommate like, William?” came her angelic voice, catching his attention, and he suddenly whipped his head in her direction so he could meet her gaze. It took him a moment to process what she was asking him and, when he did, he hadn't realized that his grip on his can was increasing until the aluminum was finally crushed beneath his fingers and Pyronica asked, with concern lacing her tone, “Are you alright?”

He blinked, slowly, forcing himself to loosen his grip slightly and then turning to 8 Ball, who was watching him with a quirked eybrow, obviously managing to be concerned as well despite the fact he wasn't sober.

Nodding, jaw clenching for a moment before he brought his can to his lips and took a sip of his drink, Bill muttered a shaky, “Yeah, Yeah. I'm fine. Just thinking. About things.” Did he seriously sound like Dipper right now, a studdering mess? “My... my roommate is alright. He's a freshman also-” he gestured towards 8 Ball with his free hand, “-like his.”

“What's his name?” Pyronica asked, tapping her fingers lightly against her own can. She tilted her head slightly to one side, adding, “Is the guy cute? I hope he's cute. You can, like, totally give him to me if he is. I'd be glad to take a cute guy off your hands.” A suggestive grin grew over her features.

Bill lowered his gaze to his sneakers, willing his brain to form words properly. Was it _really_ this difficult for him to speak when he was drunk? He licked his lips and nodded again, this time more slowly and thoughfully. “He...His name is Dipper Pines.” The words rolled off his tongue easily when he continued, “And he's pretty alright-looking, for a kid, that is. You can take him if you want, Py, I don't really give a crap.”

8 Ball tossed his can back and forth from hand to hand, some of the liquid spilling out over the edges as he did so, taking a moment of thought himself before beginning to speak. “Ah. _Ah._ Yes, I think I've heard that name before. I was talkin’ to some of the girls the other day and they were whinin’ about him bein’ your roommate, William, s-sayin' they hoped to fuckin' Jesus that you aren't bi.”

Something like this wasn't exactly news for Bill to hear. His “fangirls” basically trailed him everywhere he went, nearly impossible to shake off, attempting to sneak a few kisses with him in public places for attention and occasionally succeeding, sometimes even pestering him for drinks and offering up some cash to spent a night of alone time with him. He refused to their pathetic attempts most of the time, but when it came down to parties and such he gave permission to the hottest virgin that came into range, though, most of the time, the hot girl he wanted to spend alone time with was simply Pyronica. _Can't go wrong with the person you've had sex with one thousand times before._

“What kind of things did they say about him, exactly?” he asked 8 Ball, lifting his head to look at the taller man, taking another sip of his beer, finishing off the can before crushing it and tossing it across the room. It hit the ground lightly, barely making any sound, but it seemed to echo much louder in his head.

8 Ball pursed his lips in thought, eyes rolling upwards and towards the ceiling. “Hmm. Well, first off, I think they said that he's a pretty good looking guy, easy on the eyes. Good news for you, Py!” he added happily, looking back down for a moment to wink at the pink-haired girl, who winked back. “...But, seriously, they said that his hair looks super soft or some shit, nice face, nice features, cute button nose, really shy around other people…” He met Bill's gaze once again. “They asked if you guys were having sex or something, but I said that you probably only like vaginas. Just a lot of schoolgirl stuff, honestly. Why do you ask?”

The blond shook his head, beginning to reach up with one hand to rub at his aching temples with the other rested in his lap. Narrowing his eyes, he could only reply with, “No reason.” _Ugh, my head._ “Just...he's...wow.”

Pyronica looked confused. “He's wow?” She giggled. “Have you guys been having sex, after all?” Then, turning to 8 Ball, “Heeeey, I think he likes penises, too.”

“No, no, not wow." Bill mumbled, ignoring her immaturity. He moved his hand down to rub one of his eyes, barely managing to stifle the yawn that was threatening to burst out his mouth. He glanced towards the room's window, having to squint just ever so slightly. When had it gotten so dark outside? “He's...what time is it?”

“Uh, around ten," the girl replied, looking down at her wristwatch.

8 Ball laughed again, this time so much more loudly, his dark blue orbs glinting with both amusement and understanding. He took yet another sip of his drink, happily starting to go off on another drunken rant. “William's drunk, the poor guy, at a complete loss for words! He ain't got nothin’ to say, gotta go back to his own room and get a good night's rest, gonna wake up with one hell of a hangover in the mornin', my poor pal here is!”

“It's not just him that's going to get a hangover." Pyronica muttered in reply, eyes half-lidded yet still alight, matching her growing teasing tone. “Makes me glad that I don't drink as much as you two idiots do. It must suck waking up in the morning and feeling as if your head's about to explode. Or implode. However the fuck that would work.”

She chuckled at her own words and reached out, grabbing onto one of Bill's wrists and tugging lightly. “Hey, you sure you can walk back to your room like this? You can stay here. I'd hate to sound mean, but you look like you've just come out of the mental institution."

“N-No. _No._ ” Bill slurred, lazily prying his hand away from the beautiful girl's grasp. As great as staying here sounded right now, something inside of him was yelling at him to go back to his own room. He began to run one of his hands through his hair, untangling some knotted strands that got caught between his nimble fingers. “...No, I'm pretty sure I'm capable of putting one foot in front of the other, Py.” Though he kind of had his own doubts that, even _if_ they were his own words.

* * *

 

If he was completely honest with himself, he actually had no idea how he had been able to get back to his own room without tripping and falling over onto his own face. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this drunk, nor could he remember how much he drank, but he knew it had to be more than his usual dosage because right now he felt really lightheaded and as if he were about to throw up, which he had done as he was heading out of Pyronica's room.

He sighed and reached into his pocket to grab yet another cigarette, closing his eyes and allowing himself to get lost in the nightly sounds coming in from the outside world, remembering once again of when he was a young and stupid boy, one who wanted to travel the world and get to see new people and exciting, wonderful places.

But times were different now, and with time comes change. _He_ was different now. Much different. How could he have possibly once been such a fun-loving, adventurous, and brave child, if he was this way now? It felt as if his childhood was a completely different lifetime, one when everything was right and he had no stresses or problems, just him and his mom versus the world.

In fact, the way he used to be kinda reminded him of-

“B-Bill?”

_Him._

Irritated, Bill lit his cigarette and pulled it out of his mouth so he could at least speak to his roommate,turning his head slightly so he could look at the boy. “What is it now, kid?”

“Y-You're back.”

The blond tried his best to hide the now-growing smirk on his features, very glad that it was fairly dark, not pitch black but just enough so it wouldn't be so noticeable.

There were many things that he could have said during this moment; _Miss me much?, Why do you care?, Sure hope I didn't keep you waiting for_ too _long!, Haha, yeah, but that's only because I wanted to see how hard you were crying., Just...go the fuck back to sleep, please._ But those certain sentences seemed to be trapped in his throat, and all that could escape was, “Well, yeah. Where else am I supposed to sleep?”

 _Pyronica's,_ his brain screamed back at him. He ignored it.

Dipper's red, puffy eyes drifted closed again, as if he didn't hear him, his lips parted slightly, his delicate lips, and the words that left those lips were “I hate you,” before his breathing grew lighter, his chest rising and falling to match it.

He was asleep. Again.

“I hate you, too.”


	6. Love is Questionable

Dipper honestly wasn't sure of what he dreamt of that night, every part of it coming out in one big blur, like that of a film strip movie that people usually fell asleep while watching.

Of course, he knew it wasn't uncommon to wake up feeling odd and uncomfortable, with a feel of confusion and agitation clouding his mind. Dreams were things that were best forgotten, as he had been told since he was a young boy, and he supposed that things like that were said with reason, but he still couldn't have the haunting feeling that maybe things would be different if more people were apt to unlock the secrets that lie within man's subconscious.

Most of his dreams were odd- which made sense, considering that dreams were supposed to be fantastical- and completely random, much more than needed for someone with an organized mind such as his. And, even with his intelligence, he still couldn't seem to recall his dreams well when he woke up, and this one wasn't much of an exception, either.

While attempting to reply these jumbled thoughts in the confines of his mind, he supposed that his dream involved this place- here, this college in the small town of Gravity Falls- and that he wasn't doing too well in his classes, which was something quite laughable. Plus that his roommate _wasn't_ Bill, but someone much, much nicer, but they also happened to be really boring?

He was also sure that the professors were all professional tap dancers, which really sold it to him that it was all but a weird fantasy his mind had conjured (and that he was completely losing his marbles, but that was a story for another time), and also that the school apparently hid dead bodies under the squeaky, wooden floorboards of the dormitories's halls.

So, made entirely by his own assumptions, he had a lot of issues that he would need to take some time to sort out. _Hopefully Gravity Falls has a therapist, or even a hypnotist,_ he thought once he had enough of this information gathered, shaking the memory of all that craziness out of his mind, hopefully to never, ever return again, and instead blinked opened his eyes fully so he could once again begin to focus on the importance of his reality.

He lifted himself up, slightly, leaning on his elbows for support, and turned towards his roommate, who was sitting up in his own bed and rubbing at his temples, almost seeming to be in some sort of pain.

And, being the kind hearted human being that he was, Dipper moved himself into a sitting position and asked, “Are you alright?” He said these words carefully, trying not to mess up as he spoke, clutching at his soft sheets and tilting his head slightly to one side. He licked his lips nervously when the other narrowed his eyes, adding, with some lost patience, “Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you, or whatever. It's just that you don't look so hot there, pal, and I'm actually concerned about the well-being of other people, even if they've been acting like huge jerks for the time that I've known them.”

Bill didn't reply to this, enough words all in their own. Dipper hadn't meant to snap like that, he really hadn't; starting another argument with him so early in the morning seemed like a death wish, to say the least, not to mention the fact that he was tired enough as it stood, his head still groggy from just awakening.

“ ‘Bout time you got up, sweetie." Bill finally muttered, frowning deeply. “And a top of the fucking morning to you, too.”

“I asked if you were okay.”

Shaking his head, still not turning to face the brunet, Bill said, slightly louder, “I didn't even _say_ anything to you, yet, kid, there's no need to get your panties in a twist so fast.” Then he moved the hand that was rubbing his forehead to run through his hair. “If you really are concerned about what's wrong, however, I'll be nice and let you know that I might've had a little too much to drink yesterday.”

He sighed, ever so lightly, adding, “The same old shit when it comes to me.”

 _The same old shit when it comes to me…_ Was Dipper supposed to know what that meant? Because he didn't. He was almost tempted to ask, but refrained, figuring that it would be best not to, instead settling for gripping his knees and nodding his head slowly, saying, “So you have a hangover. That's...relatively normal, I guess, for an alcoholic.” _But I'm also sure that college students aren't supposed to be_ _alcoholics_ … he thought. He raised an eyebrow, question coming out before he could think twice to stop it, “Where would you even have enough alcohol to get drunk, anyway, assuming that you probably drink a lot? Do you have a secret stash, or…?”

“I don't usually have a whole lot of money.” Bill replied, almost hesitantly, blinking a few times before turning his head slightly and finally meeting Dipper's gaze, their eyes lingering for just a moment too long before he turned away again. He pressed his lips into a thin line, as if he were calculating something with deep concentration, then pressed on, “My...my _friends-_ ” He forced out the word as if it were a curse. “-usually buy all my stuff, everything, for me, from my beer packages to my cigarettes, and maybe even a few of my stronger substances, but those are none of your business.”

Dipper didn't even want to _know_ what he meant by that last part, only leaning forward slightly and taking a moment to listen.

“They've been doing it for a while. It kind of helps out, considering that I'm trying to save up my stacks to pay to go to this place and to buy my apartment back.”

“Buy back your apartment?” Dipper echoed. “You...You lost your apartment? As in, the place where you lived?” He couldn't possibly imagine having to lose something like that, but it sounded frustrating enough for him to make a mental note to always have money to spare.

“I'm pretty sure that's what apartments are for." Bill replied, furrowing his brows. “But, yes, I was kicked out because I stopped paying rent. I've been jumping houses and shit with the folks in town, but I currently have nowhere to stay, because currently no one wants me, so I'm paying for housing here.”

“Oh.” What was Dipper supposed to say to something like this? _Why can’t he just, like, not go to college so he can save money for his apartment? That sounds like it would make more sense._ But he decided not to question it. “...So you live in town.” He swept his legs over the side of his bed, toes now barely brushing the ground, and interest suddenly began to light his gaze. “That's cool. My two great uncles live here, too, though the only reason they do is because one of them is an environmental scientist. He's studying the forest that surrounds the town. Sounds pretty cool, but I don't really see what's so great about grass and trees,” he chuckled.

Bill fliched for just a moment, bringing one of his hands to rub his face, replying, “I suppose I can see why they'd look here, honestly. This forest has a ton of great natural resources, such as the soft soil and such, plus some guys have been spreading rumors of possible dinosaur bones hiding somewhere out there. I'm pretty sure I've seen in the local paper that they've found one or two.” He raised an eyebrow. “But, wait, if your great uncles live here, why don't you just stay with them while you're here for college? I'm sure it's better than trying to pay for housing. It could save you a few thousand big ones in the end, you know.”

“They don't have any room," the younger male replied, smiling sadly. “That and the fact that Stan hasn't cleaned the place in, like, one million years. Dirt bothers me because I'm a neat freak, but I don't really mind having to pay for it. I have a _ton_ of scholarships in stuff, which adds up to paying for my books and helping support me for about the first two years, so in the end it really doesn't hurt my wallet too much. Or, my parents' wallets, to be truthful. They would happily pay for it all if they could, but my sis needs to get some of that college money love, too." He let out a short laugh and kicked his feet around a little, Bill even grinning a little in his own amusement, and he decided to appreciate this peaceful conversation, his heart fluttering in his chest and a light blush dusting his cheeks. Just talking like normal people was fun. No yelling, no insults, no painful punches that still kind of hurt a little bit, no hating his brain for making big deals out of things it shouldn't be…This was okay. He was alright with this, he had no doubt about that, and it was definitely something that he would volunteer to do more often.

“It must be nice to have parents that care so much about you," said Bill, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans- which had, in fact, told Dipper he hasn't changed into his pajamas before going to sleep the night prior. “Mine, on the other hand, yeesh. You don't even want me to get started.”

Again with Bill being a cryptic asshole and saying things that he didn't understand. Once again Dipper found himself not being able to relate at all to what he was saying. But who would? Why would any parents even _consider_ not being parent-ly to their children? After all, yet another thing he had been told as a kid hit his brain like a sudden punch;  _If you can't handle kids, then don't have any._

He didn't know what to say, as he hadn't before, only managing a swift,”Did something happen between you and your parents?” And, when Bill didn't pick up on what he had said, repeated himself, this time much slower.

Bill chuckled. “It's nothing of too much importance, trust me. Truthfully, my entire childhood is kind of just one big dumb mistake, nothing really to say about it that would pique anyone's interest.” For some reason Dipper couldn't help but feel as if there was a lot he wasn't saying. “You shouldn't worry your pretty little head about it too much.”

“But-”

“I said don't _worry about it."_ Bill snapped back, pulling his hands out of his pockets and using one of them to grab a fistful of his hair, gritting his teeth with Dipper could only identify as either anger or pain- or both. It was hard to say.

The blond lowered his head and let out another laugh. “Okay, kid, I didn't want to say anything before, so I'll say it now; We are _not_ friends, kid, and _don't_ think you've hit me in a soft spot just because we didn't argue for once. Besides, I'm sure you have better things to do with your insignificant little life than to stick your nose into my personal business.”

“I was only trying to start a conversation." Dipper defended, hands attempting to find the nearest thing to hold onto, which happened to be his bed. “You don't need to get all salty about it, dude. I-”

He cut himself off because, for once, Bill was right. He _did_ have better things to do. Not only did classes start up in five days, but they started the day right after his birthday, and he didn't even know what he was going to do then, apart from the idea of video chatting with Mabel for an abnormally long time so they could prattle on and on about officially being on the planet for nineteen years.

He knew that he needed to get his shit back together, and fast, too, because if he didn't he was sure that he was going to wind up messing up something terribly. And messing up in general would crush up and annihilate his spirit enough, messing up during _college,_ much less his freshman year, probably wouldn't put him into the best of moods, and that was just the way to put it simply.

Dipper opened his mouth to speak again, what he was going to say to not too certain, probably just some witty comment that he was going to regret later on, when suddenly Bill let out a low, pained groan and screwed his eyes shut, burying his face in both of his hands and uttering profanities under his breath. _Fuck,_ was the one most prominent, and Dipper stood, quickly, acting on pure instinct, debating on whether or not it would be better to help or to just call for help, his fingers digging his sweaty palms painfully.

“B-Bill," he drew out, eyes widening with some concern and even a little fear for the other, “do you want me to-” He was cut off as Bill rolled off of his bed and onto the ground, hitting the ground with a painful sounding _thump,_ his blankets being dragged down along with him, hanging over the edge of the bed and yet still kind of wound to him as if hanging on for dear life.

The blond was sprawled out across the ground in what was certainly terrible agony, his lips parted slightly and his face much more pale than it had been before, basically ghost white now, a few droplets of sweat liquefying his perfect golden locks and running down to his chin. His Adam's apple bobbed visibly in his throat, and he brought his knees to his chest and buried his face into his hands yet again, muttering a string of curses.

He was breathing heavily now, his chest heaving with the obvious effort it was taking for him to do so, and without much of a thought Dipper ran across the room in quick steps, dropping down onto his knees next to him and beginning to act on everything he remembered learning in health class during his intermediate school days.

“Wow." The younger laughed nervously, beginning to lean down somewhat and move Bill's hands out of his face, who shifted in protest at first but soon went limp and obliged, allowing him to also brush the hair out of his face as so he could feel his forehead. “You're really, really hot. And, like, I don't mean in the sexy way. Either you're running a fever or you had more than ‘just a little too much to drink' yesterday.”

Bill's eyelids fluttered as he leaned into the other's touch, the softest of pants escaping his lips. “I'm pretty sure that you think I'm hot in both ways," he whispered, which in turn earned him a cringe and a weak push on the shoulder, “but, yeah, I guess you aren't wrong there.” He let out a curt _ha,_ adding, “I'm almost certain that me and 8 Ball went through, like, two and a half dozen cans of beer alone. It was fucking awesome until it wasn't anymore.”

Dipper licked his lips, pulling his hand away, his other one resting on Bill's cheek to hold his head up. He didn't know who the hell “8 Ball” was, or if that was even supposed to be a real name, but he didn't care enough to ask right now. Right now he had to act on what he learned in school, and the things he learned hadn't failed him before, so they shouldn't fail him now. “Did you throw up last night?” On instinct he look a long whiff, expecting the foul smell of vomit to puncture his nose but, when it didn't, pressed on, “Do you need to throw up now? Alcohol takes a while to pass through the body so it's very likely that some could still be in your system. Or most. Or all.” He laughed again, this time being more awkward than nervous. “I have no idea how much you drank last night, so that's hard to say.”

“Geez, kid, you act like you've never seen a guy with a hangover before." Bill snickered and, after taking a moment to register Dipper's look of terror, lost his smug look and muttered a low, “Well, shit.”

“C-Can you _please_ just answer my question?”

Bill sighed. “I threw up last night right before I walked back here," he replied, beginning to lightly and slowly nuzzle into the other's hand, a small grin returning. “I don't have to throw up right at this moment, though, so I suppose that's an improvement. And it isn't even like I'm drunk, so I think you should just chill out.”

“Does your head still hurt?” Dipper asked, barely hearing him. “I brought some medicine with me from California," he added softly and, when Bill gave him a puzzled expression, added, “for emergencies, you know, like if I get a cold or something. It's over-the-counter, so it's okay...and, yeah, if you're sick and don't take medicine there's a chance that it'll get worse so that is totally a legimate reason for me to-” He let out a breath. “Okay, you know what? It's _not_ weird? Okay? Yes. Right. So I'll go get some for your headache.”

“For a paranoid person, yes, that is completely normal.” Bill's eyes were shining with obvious amusement, grin wideneing ever more, now seeming to reach his ears. “But, sure, why not, it could help a little. Make with the medicine, kid.”

“That's kind of what I was planning to do.” Dipper grumbled back, pulling away from him completely and heading to the bathroom, switching on the light once he was inside and pulling open the medicine cabinet above the sink. His gaze swept upon and flew across each of the various packages of medicines he had put in there but a few days ago, some of the things in there that _wasn’t_ his being those smaller boxes with rip-off brand names (probably left by the head) and, when he found what he was looking for, grabbed it and shut the cabinet.

The big red letters on the small box the liquid medicine was enclosed in, _For aches and pains, lasts twelve hours,_ screamed out at him. As it hadn't been used yet he tore open the packaging after reading swiftly the instructions on the back, tossing it into the garbage can next to the toilet. He let out an exhausted breath, cursing the absence of a spoon, and turned off the light before rushing out the bathroom and back to Bill, who had managed to sit up while he was gone.

The brunet dropped down onto his knees all over again, this time more rough and carelessly, causing a stinging pain to shoot up his legs and to the upper part of his body. Ignoring it he hurriedly pushed down and twisted open the top of the bottle, once finished practically shoving the purple, foul-smelling liquid at Bill, trying to offer him the top as well. “This is it. We don't have a spoon in here, for obvious reasons, but the instructions say to take a teaspoon, so maybe if you pour some into the cap, it should be just the right amou-”

Bill took the small bottle and clutched it tightly in his grasp before bringing it to his lips, taking a long, loud guzzle, some of the liquid managing to stream out the side of his mouth in a thin strand. Once it was halfway finished he handed it back to Dipper, who took it and shakily put the top back on before putting it to the side.

Dipper couldn't even begin to find the proper words to describe how disturbed he was. “I…” He wiped his hands on his shirt, as if Bill's germs had rubbed off on him, and made small coughs into his fist. “I'm...wow. Dude, I'm pretty sure that's not healthy.”

Bill snickered at this, “If it's not healthy then they probably shouldn't be trusting people with it, wouldn't you say?” He used his sleeve to dab at the medicine that was still trailing out of his mouth, gagging at the taste of it. “Maybe they should try to work on making it taste better, while they're at it. You'd think that grape would at least _not_ make you want to throw up. It's better than cherry, though, so that's good.” His tongue darted out and ran along his lips, dramatically slow, and he shifted his position just ever so slightly and grinned at Dipper. “Eh. I guess it's not as bad once you get used to it.”

“That...isn't what I meant about it not being healthy," the freshman breathed, blinking a few times. “You took, like, thirty times more of that than you were supposed to.” Bill rolled his eyes as he continued, “Overdosing on medicine, even if it's just over-the-counter, can lead to very fatal consequences. In middle school I remember this one kid who-”

“Good God, you're a nerd." Bill interrupted, his grin spreading and his eyes glowing with pure mischief to match it. _He's gonna say something super stupid, isn't he-_ “But, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're worried about me.”

And there it was. He winked. “Don't be, kid, it takes a lot more than this to take me down. Having a little too much grape medicine isn't going to kill me.”

“Well, I don't want to be the one to feel responsible for when my dorm roommate suddenly has to get rushed down to the emergency room because he doesn't know how to take medicine like a regular human being." Dipper replied, in a tiny voice, so soft that he barely even heard himself.

But Bill seemed to hear loud and clear. “There you go with that tone of your's again, kid," he said, a frown pulling at his lips now. He moved so he could sit in a pretzel position, placing his hands in his lap, leaning forwards towards Dipper just the tiniest bit, one of his eyebrows raised. “We were just starting to get along, kid, and I really don't feel like getting into another scream fest with you today.”

So, that was that, then. They were back to square one, weren't they?

For some reason Dipper couldn't help but be more than just a little disappointed, plus the simple fact that Bill was actually right for once; they _had_ actually had been getting along relatively well, not counting the parts when Bill had gotten all touchy, and it was pretty nice. As stated before, it was something that he really would be okay with getting used to.

“Neither do I." He sighed, reaching up and running one of his hands through his fluffy hair. “I'm sick of yelling at you if you're not even going to listen to anything I say.”

“And I'm sick of you acting like you're somethin’ big and telling me how I should and shouldn't act.” Bill replied cheekily, his eyes half-lidded, “so maybe there's a way this can wind up working out for the both of us, I believe, but it has to be a team effort.”

“What do you mean?”

The senior laughed, not too loud but also not quietly, and he said, “Well, you want to focus on your studies and getting your degree in whatever, if I'm correct.” Dipper nodded. “And I want to do my own thing, but that's something you don't seem to approve of so greatly. So how's about from now on I keep my drink and cigarettes and stuff out of the room and away from you, and in return you stop being an absolute pain in my fucking ass?”

Dipper bit the inside of his cheek, choking back the witty reply that was currently tickling his throat. “Only if you stop being a pain in mine," he managed.

“Fine." Bill said, beginning to offer his hand to the younger male, the twitching in his fingers almost completely latent. “So, what? Do we have a deal, then?”

One could have said that Dipper hesitated in this moment, that he was having second thoughts about all of this, fearing that there was going to be some sort of catch with this proposal. And that would've been right, but he didn't want to think about the negatives of this right now. Bill was offering to get out of his hair and that was fine enough on it's own and, if there were any problems, that would have to be a problem for future Dipper to handle when he reached that bridge.

“Deal.”

He took Bill's hand.


	7. Love is Florid

There were a lot of things that made way into Dipper's mind as soon as he took the deal, most of them being negative, but the thought that screamed out at him the loudest and most aggressively, in such a way that it made his blood chill and his brain rattle in his skull, was _Am I making the right decision?_

Which, of course, he had every right to worry about, despite the half-hearted promises to himself not moments before that he wouldn't stress out about it until later. Bill Cipher was...questionable, and that was only a way to put it simply.

Everything that he did, everything he said, basically all of his actions and the way he acted smug at almost all times, the way he just acted in general, all of it was just _questionable._ He treated it as if he had no motive, that he was just an asshole and a narcissist on purpose or even because it was somehow _fun_ and, as badly as Dipper wanted to believe that it was true and Bill was just a pain for the sake of being a pain, a part of his mind still continued to doubt that more than just to a slight degree.

But, really, what did _he_ care about any of the back story that might be able to justify any of it? Bill's personal life was his own business, after all, like he had so rudely and impatiently pointed out before during their mini argument, but if he liked being a jerk when someone else expressed even the slightest bit of concern, that was fine. And if this little arrangement was what it was going to take for him to at least act like a civilized being and take his alcohol, drugs, and whatever else he did to get high as far away from Dipper as possible, that was absolutely and completely fucking fantastic.

There was also the small but important fact that this was also the perfect opportunity for Dipper to focus on his studies, like he had been aiming to do for a while now, without having to deal with his buttons getting constantly pushed.

With these slightly more positive thoughts now lodged in his calculating mind, he pulled his hand away from Bill's, if not quite roughly, (he seemed to be holding on pretty tight?) and took a deep breath, allowing his cheeks to puff out once they were filled with air, before releasing. “So, I guess that settles it, then. You can finally stop being an asshole now, thank y-” And, cutting himself off abruptly, hesitated for a few seconds before finally fixing his choice of words, “Uh...what I meant to say was, we can both stop being assholes now, thanks.”

Bill pressed his lips into a thin line, giving him a curt and polite nod. “Yes, I suppose that we can," he replied, starting to lightly drum his fingers on one of his knees, scratching somewhat on the fabric on his jeans and leaving small lines. “But don't think that this makes us friends, kid.”

 _I wouldn't want to be friends with you,_ Dipper mentally replied, in reality only nodding politely in return.

“And you needn't worry about me going back on the deal and continue acting like the way I've been, by the way," the blond added, as if reading his thoughts, “I always stay true to a deal, and one as small and trivial as this would be no exception.”

“Well, that's at least good to hear." Dipper replied, running his tongue along his lips, vying to direct his attention towards anything or anywhere else. He lifted his head a little and looked around the room, after a moment of searching his gaze falling across the room, at the television that was sitting upon a wooden stand.

It wasn't particularly a large TV, but it wasn’t small, either, and it was black, with the brand name written across below the screen itself in shiny silver letters. It became well and apparent to him that neither he nor Bill had really watched it at all in the time frame that he had been here, much less even regarded the thing at all. Not like it mattered to him much. He wasn't much of a TV person, more so a “stay up all night with face stuffed in math book, studying for some test” kind of guy.

Bill followed the other's eyes and, when finding what he was staring so intently at, said, “Ah, right. That thing. It's broken, doesn't even turn on when you press the power button. Tried it the day I first walked in this room, then I reported it to the tech people. They said they'd pick it up and replace it, but they kinda never did, so I guess it's just been sitting here, collecting dust.” He leaned back on his arms once Dipper turned to look back at him, raising his brows. “If it worked I would be watching it all the time, trust me. I can barely make it without any of my Saturday morning cartoons.”

“Are you sure that it's plugged in?”

Bill laughed at this, his sharp and surprisingly white teeth visible when he gave another one of his infamous shit-eating grins. “Nice one, smart guy, but yes. I'm well awake of how modern technology works, I'm not a dad.”

 _I don't know about that,_ the brunet thought and, before he could even think twice to stop himself, blurted out, “With how many girls you've probably fucked, I'm actually having a really hard time believing you on that one.” Then, once he realized what he'd said, sat upright suddenly, his eyes widening and his face turning a deep shade of red. _Oh...Oh God. Did...did I say that out_ loud _?_ He held out his hands, waiting to get snapped at, hurriedly catching himself, “N-No, w-wait! I didn't mean to-”

But the blond was completely nonchalant about the whole slipup, his grin widening. “You're pretty right on that one, to be honest," he almost seemed to whisper, his voice meeting a tone that Dipper wasn't really comfortable with. His gaze lowered, his nails digging into the soft carpet that covered the ground, and he let out a soft breath. “I don't even know where most of those girls are right now, if I'm _really_ being truthful here. They were hot, they served their purpose, and that's good enough for me. But safe sex is best sex, condoms are a blessing.”

“Er, yeah.” Dipper mumbled in reply, letting out  a short whistle and starting to toy with his wrist watch awkwardly, not completely sure how he should reply to _any_ of that. Pacifica wasn't really kidding when she said he liked to sleep with people, but either way this entire situation was making Dipper feel completely uncomfortable. He quickly found a way to jump the topic, and suddenly added, “So what are you planning to do about the TV? Shouldn't you go take it somewhere so it can get fixed, if tech isn't going to do it? It serves no purpose just sitting here, you know.”

Bill seemed to recognize the other's discomfort and laughed, his golden eyes shining with amusement and teasing. “So I'm guessing you didn't have too much fun when you had the sex talk with your dad, huh?” he joked (or, he at least sounded like he was joking), then added, “Are you kidding me? Literally, getting anything repaired these days can cost a guy his life's savings, and that isn't even an exaggeration. I was simply thinking of replacing it myself, I'm sure that I'll easily be able to find one to take Mr. Broken's spot here.”

“I think that buying a new one would be just as expensive as fixing one," the brunet replied, blinking, “if not even more than that, if you're planning on getting one that's really good or in, like, high definition.”

The older male leaned forward and laid his elbows on his knees, clenching his hands and placing them on either side of his face. He tilted his head to one side and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling, obviously going into deep thought, and he even added emphasis to it by clicking his tongue. “Well, I don't necessarily think that I'll need to buy a new one. I have all the stuff from my old apartment all packed up at my buddy's place, so I can just take a short walk out in town and head to his place, pick it up, then take it back here, get rid of that piece of shit one over there, then _bam,_ Saturday morning cartoons are upon me once again.”

“Are you sure he wouldn't have sold it to someone or something?” Dipper chuckled, that to which Bill waved his hand in a dismissive sort of manner, as if that was a stupid question.

“Nah, the guy promised to keep all my stuff under lock and key until I could get a new place to live,” he replied, eyes meeting the freshman's, “and if there's one thing that people shouldn't do, it's break a promise with me. I would hand him his ass if he got rid of anything.”

Dipper couldn't help but say, “It sounds like your stuff means a lot to you.” Not like he wouldn't be able to relate to this kind of thing, having an attachment or two to simple items- he remembered when he was a kid and had gotten his first fountain pen. He used it to write on anything and everything, including his homework and his own personal writings, and when it eventually died down and ran out of ink he was devastated. He didn't want to throw it away for about three weeks, even coming to the point of screaming and crying hysterically when his mom forcibly took it and dumped it into the garbage as if it meant absolutely nothing.

“Oh, yes, definitely." Bill said, his grin faltering into a simple smile, an actual, genuine smile, that to which the other male returned with one of his own, “but that's probably only because most of the stuff I have used to belong to my mom, and she would've had a heart attack if even the smallest item was out of place. She was always one who liked to have everything perfect and organized, and it's a damn shame that I've been too much of a hot mess to keep it together for her sake.”

The way he used past tense to describe her was unnerving to Dipper, to say the least, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why he would do so. But, either way, he still couldn't help himself from saying, “How is she?” before regretting it immediately afterwards, slapping one of his hands over his mouth.

Bill's expression seemed to contort into something more saddening, but for a split second, only long enough for Dipper to barely notice its existence, before returning to its neutral state. His smile remained in place, though there were the hints of a frown tugging at his lips. “It’s fine. She's most certainly seen better days, is one way to put it,” he replied, “but if I know her well enough, she's most likely sassing someone where she is right now, just like she's always done.”

“I'm sorry." Dipper whispered, not at all sure what he was supposed to say. “I couldn't possibly imagine what it must be like to put up with something like that, because my family's still very young and...active, I think would be the correct word to use.” He laughed lightly and began to bite the inside of his cheek again, running a hand through his hair. “No, no, sorry, I really am, I didn't mean to bring this up, I just thought-” He put his hand on his lap and took a deep breath. “I-I mean that I...uh, when are you going to go and get the TV?” he asked lamely.

“Today, probably." Bill replied, slowly, after taking a few seconds to think over his answer. “I have nothing better to do as of now. I'll just stop at my favorite place for breakfast and go pick it up, it shouldn't take too long.”

“Oh, okay, that's good." Dipper said, his fingers twitching slightly. He opened his mouth to add on something, but closed it just as fast, with second thoughts, beginning to scratch his arm though it didn't even itch.

But it was now or never. “So, uh...I-I…” Bill raised an eyebrow and he blushed, managing, “W-Would it be okay if I went with you? I was kind of planning to take a look around town one of these days, anyways, and it would make much more sense if I went with someone who was familiar with the town and the area in general, rather than to go on my own and get lost, you know. It's fine if you don't want me around, honestly, it was something that randomly came to mind and I can go talk to someone else about it if you don't-”

The blond snickered, his grin returning now, splitting his face. “Sure, kid, you can tag along! Only if you make sure not to make me look like an idiot in front of anyone,” he said, then gave a flirtatious wink, adding, “I'm sure you'll like it here, like most people usually do in the end. Nothing can quite beat the quaintness of this town, mind you, not to mention how straightforward and kind the folks here are.”

“You sound like a tour guide already. I like it.” Dipper laughed, his nerves eased a little by the other's words of enthusiasm, and he said, “You're so good, I think I just might love this town already.”

“Hey, see? That's the spirit, Piney! Now go, shoo, might as well get yourself prettied up before we go.” Bill got to his feet and pulled the brunet up by his arm without any sort of warning, having to practically drag him across the room, his entire being seeming to absolutely buzz with excitement. “Go get your teeth brushed, take a shower, you know the deal. We have a few great hours ahead of us, best not to kill it by standing around like a bunch of...of... _boring_ people.”

“Wow, yeesh, okay! You're tugging _really_ hard, ouch! I'm going, I'm going, calm down!”

* * *

 

Dipper made quick work of doing his regular morning routine, brushing his teeth in ten less seconds than he usually did, then taking a quick twenty minute shower and brushing his hair as best he could, making sure that his bangs completely concealed his forehead, finishing it all off by putting on the clothes he picked out for the day, a simple blue T-shirt and black jeans. Once he was finished he exited the bathroom, immediately greeted by Bill, who was leaning casually against the wall next to the door. He looked up once the door opened.

“All done?” he asked, smirking, and Dipper nodded, stepping aside and allowing him to pass.

“Your turn.”

Bill took a considerably long time in the bathroom, and Dipper took advantage of it enough to continue reading one of Mabel's romance novels, managing to make it through a chapter and a few pages before he heard the door creak open. He made haste in shoving the book under his pillow, where it had been lying latent since the last time he read it, just as Bill walked out, his hair soaked, with some loose strands plastered to his perfectly modeled face. He was wearing a white dress shirt, the sleeves going down to his elbows, and though it was inappropriate in the late August weather, it seemed to compliment him nonetheless, giving him a dapper sort of appearance. It was kind of difficult to remember that this handsome young man also happened to be an alcoholic and a drug addict.

“Like what you see?” he laughed, and Dipper blinked, blushing all over again at the realization that he'd been staring. “There's no need to act so shy about it, I have that sort of effect on a lot of people. Now, come on, there's delicious food and a perfectly good television waiting to be grabbed at, kid.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” replied Dipper, a grin starting to form over his own features. The idea of a good breakfast sounded more than a little wonderful right now, and though the school's own food was great enough to satisfy him, he supposed that he was going to have to come out of his comfort zone some and trust Bill to take him somewhere nice.

Yes, trusting his questionable roommate…

 _What am I doing with my life anymore?_ He chose to ignore any second thoughts that popped into his mind, however, and chased after his said roommate, who was already making his way out the room door without a single glance back to make sure that Dipper was following.

“Where are we going to eat?” he asked Bill once they were outside the dormitories, finally managing to catch up to him and match his step. He turned his head to look at the building, not too used to seeing from the outside, so caught up in admiring its architecture and how the dorms were so perfectly arranged that he barely heard Bill when he responded to his question.

“Don't think about that too much, Pine Tree.” A light flush dusted the blond's freckled cheeks when he began to speak, but Dipper figured it was only a result of the warm air. After all, it was probably about ninety degrees out today. Probably one of the last really warm days of the year. “We'll get there in, say, about twenty minutes? It's actually not too far from here,” he tacked on, then gesturing to the east with his head, “but, for now, I think you'll like _that_ view.”

The freshman, somewhat confused, looked in the direction that Bill had indicated, a huge smile and a laugh bubbling on his lips when he saw that to which his roommate was talking about.

Somewhere off in the distance was the college itself, resting regally atop a small, grassy hill with various types of trees surrounding it all angles. It looked completely grand even from here, the tanish brick structure of it just downright majestic, large golden colored gates in front of the entrance, with start that lead to the inside, past huge glass doors. It seemed to take up several acres, and there were also the large sports fields for games and such that were near the building itself, and Dipper assumed that the seats in each were for up to a few hundred people. If one could squint hard enough at this moment, which Dipper did, they could possibly take note of a few ant-like figures standing outside.

His curious mind kicking into full gear as it usually did, Dipper wondered who those people were. Were they professors? Were they students? Were they some other type of staff? Whoever they were, what were they doing? It was also kind of hard to believe that the school was only one mile away from the dorms, it seemed so much further, but even so it was still a sight to behold in the end. And, he reminded himself, it also happened to be one of the best schools in the country and he, Dipper Pines, was one of the few people on the planet chosen and given the honor to attend it!

He let out a sweet sigh and turned back to Bill, who had been staring at him with a wide smile...and was his face redder than it had been before?

“If you really think about it,” he said, quietly, “it's only a few more days until we have to walk over there every day Monday through Friday. Then, soon after, the cold weather will come back and we'll _all_ be begging the head for warmer blankets.”

Dipper's heart warmed at the thought alone. Winter was his absolute favorite season, and it wasn't just because of holidays, though he enjoyed them a lot. No, it was mainly because he loved the sight of frost on his window to greet him in the morning, pressing his fingertips against the glass and leaving an imprint, and looking through it to see pure white snow layering over the dirt and grass, seeming to make the entire world glisten along with it.

“Yeah,” he replied, his shoulder barely brushing Bill's as they walked together, “sounds like fun. I can't wait, seriously.”

“Neither can I," he blond breathed.

They both went quiet for the next few moments, continuing to walk and standing closer than Dipper was alright with in this late summer heat, and more than once he was sure he felt slender fingers lightly press against his before suddenly pulling away, as if trying to find contact.

Laughing, Dipper stuffed his hands into his pockets, not sure how he felt about all the touching. A shiver went up his spine. “I thought you said we weren't friends, Bill.”

“We aren't.” Bill countered, his brows furrowing in what the younger male almost thought was frustration. Or disappointment. He brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It's just that the mention of cold weather gave me a slight chill, is all, and you're pretty warm. Like all human beings are warm. Body heat and such. It isn't weird. Not that there's anything wrong with weird.” He seemed uncertain about something, which may or may not have raised Dipper's concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes," Bill replied, way too quick to not be defensive, “I'm fine, I'm great. I'm fucking peachy.” He took a small side step to seperate himself from Dipper, shoving his hands into his pockets as well. “I was just thinking about something irrelevant, is all.” He snickered, but it almost sounded forced, even his grin looking more like a grimace. “Some of your obsessive way of thinking had rubbed off on me, mayhaps.”

Dipper cast a quick glance at him, giving a half-assed shrug. “Heh. Who knows. Most likely.”

Bill didn't reply, and for a moment Dipper almost wanted to say something to break the new silence, but decided not to and instead looked down at his feet.

“We're here,” said the older male after a moment. Dipper lifted his head to look at him, then turned to where he was pointing. “You're going to love the food here, I swear.”

Dipper couldn't have said that he was surprised at Bill's choice of location, but it certainly did look much more flattering in the brochures that he read on the plane ride then it did in actual reality. The building itself was rundown, with some cracks in its structure and some dirt and grime growing along the edges of the front door, the _We're Open. Come in!_ sign tilting somewhat to one side, almost ready to fall. The name of the place, Greasy's Diner, was glowing in flickering neon lights above the door, a small _open seven days a week_ next to it.

“Uh…” He worried his bottom lip, looking between Bill and the diner a few times before saying, “I think I'd rather just go back to the dorms and eat there. Actually, I'd rather eat anywhere that seems even a little more sanitary. No offense, but I'm pretty sure I told you before that I'm a neat freak.”

Bill rolled his eyes and grabbed the younger male by his arm again, “Come on, there's no need to be so uptight, Pine Tree. I mean, sure, I guess it's true that Susan only legitmately cleans the entire place once….every year, spring cleaning time, yeah, but the food itself makes up for it. If there was a little less dust it would be a five-star restaurant, I assure you.”

Attempting to pry his arm away without success, Dipper eventually gave in, sighing. “Fine. But if some kind of mutant rat bites me and gives me the bubonic plague or whatever, I will not hesitate to throttle you.”

“And I grant you permission to do so,” said Bill, tugging on his arm. “Now we can go in, yes? People are starting to stare and I don't want them thinking that I'm dating you or some shit.”

That was all Dipper needed to hear to be convinced. “Then why aren't we inside already?” he snapped at his roommate, managing to finally pry his arm away, but only really because the blond had loosened his grip some, and headed into the diner first, having enough heart to be courteous and hold the door open so Bill could walk in after him.

The diner seemed to be messier on the inside than on the outside. The tan wallpaper that lined the walls was peeling, exposing the brown wood underneath it, and stray food was littered all over the ground. The ceiling was leaking somewhat in one corner, a bucket placed on the ground to catch the falling water. Dipper was also sure that he saw a mouse scurry across the floor, making him jump a little, taking two or three or five steps back.

Not a lot of people were currently here, which came to him as no surprise, the only ones besides he and Bill being a couple sitting in a stand, drinking from the same tall glass with two straws, and an older woman who was cleaning a countertop with a white rag.

Before Dipper could offer any sort of reaction Bill was walking over to the woman at the counter, leaning his elbows on its surface and catching her attention, and she looked up from her cleaning and smiled, leaning over the surface to give him a hug. A hug that he returned.

“William!” she cheered, pulling out of the contact, her hands reaching out to grasp his shoulders. “How are ya, sweetie, I haven't seen you in a few days. Are you well?” She then moved one hand to place in his hair, which was still kind of wet, and Dipper half expected him to push her away or snap at her, but he didn't, and she pressed on, “Ah, so you took a shower before seein’ me here. How fancy!”

This woman was only about five feet and five inches tall, her hair gray wise age and wisdom in her gaze. There wasn't really anything that made her stand out, except for her one eye, which was shut tight, as if it would never open again. And Dipper guessed that it wouldn't. Her one good eye was a glistening blue, matching the color of her eyeliner. In fact, her whole face was buried in make up, cheeks rosy red and skin unnaturally pale, as if she were covering up wrinkles and attempting to make herself look younger than she actually was.

Dipper was so busy observing her that he got caught off guard when she turned in his direction, her expression flooding with interest once she laid eye upon him.

“My, my,” she whispered, laughing, “aren't you a cute one!” She then turned to Bill and began to shake him. “That boy there a friend of yours?”

“He's my dorm roommate,” the blond replied, casting a quick glance at Dipper and gesturing for him to come closer, “a new one around these parts. His name is Dipper Pines. Though I think the name Pine Tree suits him _much_ better.”

The brunet boy shot him a warning glare and sat in one of the stools, making sure not to have any kind of contact with the dusty counter. He kind of wished that he had brought hand sanitizer with him. But he tried to remain positive, giving the woman a cheesy, fake smile, saying with enthusiasm, “Hi! Nice to meet you!”

“Dipper _Pines?_ ” the woman drew out. “Aren't you related to those two men that live across town? Stanley and Stanford, I think their names are. They run the Mystery Shack!”

“Yep." Dipper replied. “They're my great uncles.”

Bill raised his eyebrows. “Well, shit, I knew that name sounded familiar.” He grinned toothily at Dipper. “Why didn't you tell me that you were related to them, kid?”

“You never asked.”

The woman gave the younger male a kind smile. “My name's Susan, by the way, though most folks call me Lazy Susan. Either or is fine with me, if you're related to those nice men! Now, you two wait here while I go make you some of my coffee omelettes! You must have a huge day ahead of you if you look so nice.” She disappeared into the kitchen at a dizzyingly fast rate, enough to make Dipper's head spin, and suddenly he was alone with Bill again.

“So when are we gonna go pick up that TV?” he asked.

“After all our teeth rot from her food." Bill replied, a chuckle passing through his lips.


	8. Love is Wonderful

The food admittedly hadn't taken too long to finish, and in what felt like only a few moments Lazy Susan had come out of the kitchen with two surprisingly clean plates that bared seemingly normal omelettes...that is, apart from the fact that they had an odd, almost caffeinated scent to them.

Had Susan _actually_ been serious when she said she was making-

Placing both plates down on the counter in front of the college students, Lazy Susan cast the both of them a wise, bright smile and said, “Coffee omelettes. My specialty.”

Yep. She had been serious. Very serious.

Dipper grabbed a fork from off the counter and lightly stabbed at the weird food/drink breakfast combination, not entirely sure how to react, but also not wanting to come off as rude. He lifted his gaze so that he could meet Susan's single functioning eye, deciding to politely return her smile with one of his own. He found himself saying, “Thank you so much, it means a whole lot, but...how much is it going to cost us?” He forced a chuckle. “I'm sure that food like this doesn't exactly come cheap.”

Bill snickered, as if the thought of that alone was laughable.

If Susan noticed, though, she made absolutely no indications of such, only replying, “Oh, no, sweetie! You don't need to give me a penny. It's on the house. If you're friends with someone like William here, I'm more than certain that you're going to need some of the extra energy.” She flashed a quick wink, if something like that was even logically possible with one good eye, and Dipper blushed, looking back down and hoping that she wouldn't add on with anything too awkward. “I'm only pulling your leg, Pines! This boy's a good one, trust me. He would never start up any kind of trouble.”

 _Oh, I can find a way to prove you wrong,_ Dipper thought, only barely managing to stop himself from saying it out loud. What stopped him? Bill's honey-colored eyes examining him, as if daring him to say something clever and step out of line.

After taking some time to find the right words- ones that _wouldn't_ get him murdered by his dorm roommate- he finally settled on saying, “Well, uh, yes, I suppose he is popular with the other college students, not to mention the people here in the town itself, but…” He paused to think. “The way he thinks eludes me, to put it simply. I don't quite understand the motives to most of his act- _ouch!_ ”

Of course, not to his surprise, he had managed to say something to upset his said roommate, which resulted in his foot being roughly stomped on from under the counter. He bit on his bottom lip as to prevent himself from screaming in agony and cast a side glare at Bill, who had his hands folded together atop the surface of the counter as if nothing had happened.

“I’m doing a service out of the kindness of my heart and showing him around town," the blond stated simply. His lips were pressed into a thin line while the rest of his face was contorted into an unreadable expression, something almost neutral. His eyes were solely fixed on Susan. “This is his first time around these parts, so it was only the right thing to do. My apologies in advance if he isn't too good at conducting himself in a proper manner.” The words _conducting himself_ had come out with a sharp edge to them, like the tip of a large, deadly knife. Dipper shivered.

Susan didn't seem to notice this hidden threat, unfortunately. A playful grin spread over her flush, red lips, and she nodded in what could only be a type of understanding. “Ah, I see. You're giving little Dipper here a tour.” Her eye lit up with admiration. “How very kind of you, William! A true humanitarian, I'd say, much like your own mother was! Why, speaking of her, I remember when-”

“Can I have some tea?” Dipper suddenly blurted out. He stifled a gulp when both Bill and Susan turned to look at him. Clutching his fork tightly in one hand, he let out a breath and said, “Uh, I'm really sorry. That came out in an impulsive way, didn't it? What I meant to say was...May I have some tea, please, Susan? Green tea, preferably, with a little bit of honey? Thanks.”

Susan hesitated for a few seconds, taking the time to process his random request, and nodded when she finally did. “Oh, of course, darling! I'll have it finished in a few shakes. Be right back.” With that she wiped her hands on her greasy apron and headed back into the kitchen, some confusion marking her face still. Dipper heaved a sigh of relief at her exit and slouched in his stool.

Bill raised an eyebrow. “That was uncomfortable," he commented, his voice no more than a mere mutter. He lowered his gaze down his coffee omelette and began to cut into it with his own fork, taking a piece of it onto the utensil before ungraciously shoving it into his mouth. He continued to speak whilst he chewed, and Dipper holding his hands up to shield himself from any flying debris. “But seriously, what the hell _was_ that? Desperate to get her to leave the room, I see. I mean, I know she can act like a mom and talks for a _really_ long time, but she only has the best intentions at heart, you know. Just because her upbeat personality isn't something you're particularly used to doesn't mean-”

“No, no, no," the other male interrupted, rubbing one of his wrists awkwardly. He clenched his jaw ever so slightly and looked at Bill, gathering enough courage to explain, “I didn't ask her to go because I find her annoying or anything. I asked her to go _because_ of you acting as if I'm some type of idiot that's clinging onto you for dear life. I mean, I get that you like to pretend to be Superman or whatever so people don't have to realize that you're an asshole, but under _no_ circumstances am I allowing you to force me into being your Lois Lane, pal. It's becoming an insult to my intelligence.”

“I'm not too sure about that.” Bill replied, taking in another piece of omelette. Some of the coffee that hadn't soaked into the food was starting to leak out onto the plate, but he made no sign of noticing. “Lois Lane isn't stupid. She's actually proven time and time again that she's, like, super duper intelligent. She even has a bunch of cool detective skills and stuff, which is fucking awesome. But, you know, that's only my opinion from watching and reading every DC movie and comic ever made.”

“Okay. Your point being…?”

Bill blinked. “Ah, yes, I guess I can get carried away at times. I used to be obsessed with superheroes a lot when I was a little kid." He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I _was_ trying to get somewhere. I'm saying that Lois Lane is really intelligent, like you are.”

Dipper found himself blushing at the compliment despite the fact he knew almost nothing about superhero comics or anything along those lines, warmth spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and he hoped that his face wasn't as red as it felt. Pushing his coffee omelette and fork aside, he leaned his elbows on the surface of the counter and started off in the direction of the kitchen so that he could avoid making any kind of eye contact with Bill. “Thank you,” he whispered, biting on the inside of his cheek, not sure of what else he was supposed to say.

“Eh. It's no problem," the blond said in response and, even though Dipper wasn't looking at him, could tell that he was eating all of this up. “I'm only here to state the facts. In all honesty, you're probably going to do so well in classes that they'll give you your degree a semester or year or two early or some shit.”

“That's always a possibility.” Dipper said, slowly, and couldn't help but smile at that thought. “But it seems especially likely if the classes are as easy as you said they are.” He lightly tapped his fingers against the counter and cast a side glance at Bill, who in turn was grinning so widely that the corner of his lips looked as if they were close to coming in contact with his ears. _Wait a minute,_ Dipper thought, frowning. “Unless...you were lying to me about that?"

Bill suddenly seemed to have an interest in playing with his fork. His eyelids were lowered, his golden orbs glinting with amusement. “Well, it isn't impossible, as long as you know what you're doing and don't fuck things up like an idiot, but it isn't exactly a walk in a field full of flowers, either, like it would be at any other college on this stupid planet. At least, that's how I see it, anyhow," he added quickly, putting down his fork on his now empty (apart from the coffee lying stagnant on it) plate and raising one hand to run his fingers casually through his perfect curls. “I'm not exactly the guy with the best grades, if you can't already figure that out, plus I kind of have a short attention span when it comes to things I don't care about, so you'd do _much_ better than me, considering I just half-ass all my stuff.”

Dipper pulled his arms off the counter and fully turned to look at Bill, raising an eyebrow. “And how do you expect me to trust you enough to suppose that you aren't lying to me right now?” he mused.

This only earned him a shrug. “You can choose to trust me on this one or not, I actually don't care at all. But, either way, you'll get good grades if you just pay attention and try your hardest, so why should it matter if I'm being truthful? I told you already that you were smart.”

“I have no idea how any of the people here put up with you,” mumbled the younger male, groaning in frustration and leaning his head against the surface of the counter.

“Um, excuse you, sir.” Bill countered, reaching over and pinching the other on the cheek, playfully but just hard enough for it to sting a little, causing the other to let out a short _Hey!_ of protest and move his stool back. “You do know you _are_ technically one of the people here now, right? You're my dorm roommate, therefore you're stuck with me everyday of your life for the next ten months. Suck it up, too, because I'm as excited as you are, and I'm sick of your constant bellyaching.”

Dipper rubbed his cheek and did some quick math in his head. “If you want to get technical, though, it'd only be about nine months and maybe a few days because we'd get out some time in June, but that's counting any days that classes could possibly be canceled. ...So, honestly, only nine months if we get out at the end of May like we're currently planned to. I mean, it doesn't make that much of a difference, because we'll have projects and homework and stuff for most of those days do we'll have little to no actual interact-” He cut himself short, realizing that he was rambling now, and sighed. “You didn't listen to one word, huh?” he asked, lowering his head.

“No, I was, I was, I promise.” Bill said, too fast, sounding much too defensive for his own good. His sly expression had fallen away sometime during the rant as well, and his gaze constantly flickered down to the brunet's untouched coffee omelette. “Are you, uh… Are you planning to eat that anytime soon?”

Dipper pressed his lips into a thin line, slightly frustrated, but pushed his plate over to Bill without complaining. “Fine, here. Take it. I guess I'll just stick with my tea, then.”

As if on cue, there was one rustling and a few unrepeatable curses from the kitchen, and after a second or two Lazy Susan herself came out holding an olive-colored teacup, some steam emitting from it due to the tea's heat. She placed it down right in front of Dipper and smiled cheesily, which admittedly would've looked more reassuring if her hair wasn't a mess and her eye weren't bloodshot. “I'd like to apologize for the slight delay.” She said this slowly. “There was this opossum or something in the kitchen and I…” She faltered, taking notice of Dipper's expression consorting into that of disgust. “I, uh… It took a while for the tea to heat up is all, sweetie.”

Dipper leaned over and tapped on Bill's shoulder once she had retreated back into the kitchen, capturing the blond's attention, and whispered in his ear, “How come this place hasn't been, like, condemned? It seems like a health hazard.”

“Like I told you before, Pine Tree,” replied Bill, his voice also happening to drop to a whisper, “the food here is fucking amazing. No one who lives in town would allow the government to come and shut it down… or whatever the heck happens to places like this. Plus I also think the town wouldn't have the funding to open up another place for Susan. To be honest, there are just too many good reasons to keep her in business, some that I'm too tired to get into, so shut up, stop complaining and appreciate whatcha got, and drink your damn tea so we can go get that TV.” And, with that, he went back to eating his newly-obtained coffee omelette.

Dipper wanted to give some sort of sarcastic reply, but eventually came to decide that it would be best not to. He removed his hand from the other's shoulder and picked up his cup of tea, the heat from the glass warming his fingers, though it was progressively becoming more and more painful to hold it as the seconds passed. He brought it to his lips, a fatal mistake in the end, as once the liquid hit his tongue he was met with immediate pain that shot down to his chest, setting his heart on fire. He frantically put the cup back down and blew on his fingers, panting heavily and trying to ignore that Bill was laughing at him.

Despite this, it was hands down the best tea he'd ever had, even better than his mom's, if he dare say it. Bill wasn't kidding when he said that Susan was amazing in the kitchen.

And, after the tea cooled down some and he finished the cup, he had been relatively fortunate that Susan had allowed him to have that for free as well, taking into careful consideration that he didn't realize he'd left his wallet back in his dorm room until he was halfway done with it.

This came to help him wonder if Bill had money and, if he did, would he have been kind enough to pay for the tea if Susan had decided to charge?

The answer: Not very likely.

That aside, Dipper was more than relieved when he and Bill both finally thanked Susan for the meal. She wished them good luck in classes and such and they headed outside, greeted by breathable air and warm sunlight rather than the smell of mildew and the annoying sight of flickering lightbulbs. He resisted the almost uncontrollable urge to drop down onto his knees and kiss the concrete beneath his feet, instead turning to Bill to ask him something along the lines of _Where do we go to get the TV?_ But the older male wasn't paying him any mind, both his arms clasped together behind his back. His eyes were closed peacefully, brows furrowed as if he were contemplating something.

Dipper reluctantly reached over and snapped his fingers in the other's face, causing him to jump a little. “Uh, I'd hate to interrupt your- Well, whatever it is you were doing there, but we still need to go and pick up that TV.”

Bill stared at him with confusion marking his features for a moment. Then his eyes widened, like he finally snapped out of a trance, and he nodded. “Right, right, of course. Sorry. That thing I said I would do today… Now. I said I would, but you're here, so that's great.” Dipper had no idea what he was going on about. “I mean, like, you can just go back to the dorms. Like, I can get the TV by myself.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait,” the brunet returned, lowering his hand, which he hadn't realized was still in Bill's face, “you said that you would show me around town, right? Why are suddenly so against that? What, did you remember that I used to be a jerk to you or whatever?”

“Ye- No.” Bill held up his hands defensively. “It's only that I think I had something planned for today, and I really didn't remember it until now because earlier this morning I had the hangover and yeah, you get that scene. You were there for that. But, yeah, I kinda can't do this thing if you're here because it-” He seemed almost _uncertain_ about something. “It's nothing important. Never mind. We should go get that TV.”

 _Well, that sure was a quick change of mind,_ Dipper thought, sucking his teeth. “Would it make me a nosy person if I asked what it is you're talking about.” It sounded like less of a question and more of a demand. “I don't mean to sound rude, but if you had other plans you shouldn't have let me come here with you. And, no offense, pal, but I'm not leaving now that I'm here. So you're stuck with me.”

The hint of a disappointed frown tugged on the blond's lips. “Er, well, I guess I can't get you to leave without somehow breaking the terms of our deal, huh?” He sighed. “Fine, come on. I can do that thing another day, I suppose. It's not like I wanted to get it done as soon as possible, after all.” He weakly gestured for Dipper to follow him, beginning to head down the street.

The younger male chose to ignore that whole awkward scene. He caught up to Bill and began to match his step. “So, who exactly is this guy we're going to see?”

Bill's aura seemed to lighten a little at that question, though his shoulders were still slumped as he walked. “You probably don't know the guy yet. He doesn't stay at the dorms, but he goes right to this college. He's about the same age that I am, maybe even a few months younger, I believe. He's kind of creepily calm when you first meet him, but he's super chill, I swear.” He kicked at a can that was in his path, causing it to fly out onto the street and become a hazard to any approaching cars, much to Dipper's distraught. “And most of the folks in town- and in our college- like to refer to him as Strange. Tad Strange, formally.”

* * *

 

There was so much that Dipper could've chosen to say during the rest of the walk, but didn't. After all, whatever the heck Bill was so uncomfortable about was really none of his business, and he knew that it probably wouldn't end well if he pestered him about it. He felt as if he was finally in the blond's good graces and he really didn't want to find some way to fuck that up. For once in his life, he decided to keep his curiosity at bay.

As for anything regarding this Tad Strange person, Bill didn't say much more than the guy being super popular with the girls as well. Because, perfect, another jock guy- just what Dipper wanted.

So, basically, Dipper simply decided to listen as Bill pointed out all the places that they passed, acting more comfortable in some areas than others, which the brunet boy took as a hint of where he did and didn't want to be. _This is where the town's daily newspaper is printed., There's the police station, but the cops here are kinda loopy, so don't get too hopeful in an emergency., Eh, yeah. Let's walk by here as fast as we can, huh?_

It continued this way for some time, Dipper taking in as much of the new information as he could, and soon enough, his feet were starting to ache from walking for so long. He began to drag them as he walked, knowing that it would cause scratches in his sneakers later on but choosing not to care, his soles scraping the hard concrete. He cast glances at Bill occasionally, who unlike him seemed completely unfazed, and choked back a complaint. Instead he asked, “How much longer until we get there?" It was difficult not to sound whiney as he spoke, and he suddenly felt like he was a little kid again, asking _Are we there yet?_ repeatedly, to the point where his parents were ready to strangle him.

Bill frowned, to which Dipper learned was a sign that he was thinking. “Not too long now, to be honest. It's only past this corner here.” He raised one arm and pointed to the end of the block, his other still resting behind his back. “But when we get to Tad's place, please, for the love of bacon, don't act all weird and stuff? I don't want him thinking that I'm with some kind of wimpy nerd.”

Dipper felt his chest constrict. That hurt a lot more than it should have. _Y-You think I'm a wimpy nerd?_ But he didn't voice this. “At least I know my place in society,” he muttered. But there was really, really no point in arguing, so he added, “Alright, fine. I'll try not to be myself. Would _that_ make you happy?”

“A lot, thank you.”

 _Oh._ “...Cool.”

“Ah, see? That's the spirit!” Bill grinned, showing off his sharp teeth, but it wound up disappearing just as fast as it had come, and he picked up his pace, once again getting ahead of the other. He didn't look back, but he said, “Well, come on, kid, are you gonna stand there and rot all day? Lame!”

“O-Of course not!” the younger male shot back, hesitating for a second or two before he forced himself to pick up the pace a little bit, managing to catch up to the other. His legs felt like they were going to collapse. _I really wish I had taken as many sports as Mabel did in high school, then I'd be able to do this so much more easily…_

Bill noticed his struggle, and looked amused by it. “Have you ever learned to walk before? Because I learned how to when I was about one.”

“Yeah, wow, thanks. That was very hilarious, Mr. Comedian.” Dipper punched the other on the shoulder, but not as hard as he could have, if his hardest would've been effective at all, honestly. “But no, I can walk, if you can't already see that.” He rolled his eyes, and his mind reeled in a quick, last-minute excuse. “I don't spend a lot of time outside, is what it is. I'd...I'd rather be reading...Or studying. Or writing an essay. Or something else.”

“So, basically,” mused the older male, “what I'm getting from this is that you don't have a life outside of school? That's sad, but it doesn't surprise me.”

Dipper glared at him. “Um, yeah, I actually _do_ have a life, thank you, and that life is preparing myself so I can go out into the real world without hesitation and wind up living a successful life until I grown old and die from some type of old person disease.” He replayed his words in his head. “I said ‘life' way too many times, didn't I?”

“Maybe a little.” Bill replied. But he wasn't looking at Dipper when he spoke. He grabbed the other male's arm and pulled him in way too uncomfortably close, mumbling, “We're here now, though, so let's put a pin in this conversation and save it again for later.”

The brunet boy was considering prying his arm away and yelling at Bill for being so grabby, but the words _We're here now_ had finally managed to process themselves in the confines of his mind, so he chose to ignore the tight grip on his elbow and direct his attention to their destination, that of which was not at all what he had expected.

In all honesty, he didn't even _know_ what he had expected Tad's place to be like, but he was certain whatever he had imagined was a lot different than this; the house itself was an eggshell white kind of color, with a brown painted roof and a red brick chimney. Some smoke was currently billowing out from it, a sure sign that there was a fire coming from the inside, which meant that Tad was home.

There was a relatively large window on the left side of the house, right next to the front door, that showed a clear view of the living room- at least, it _would_ have, if a blue curtain wasn't drawn over it, blocking any view.

The house itself was simply small and quaint…oddly normal-looking, if Dipper thought about it, but that didn't sound quite right because _odd_ and _normal_ were complete opposites. It seemed like the kind of place where a homicidal maniac would live. Or something else completely reassuring like that.

Bill let out a breath through his nose, as if he were some type of bull, ready to charge. He tugged on Dipper's elbow again and began to pull him forward, to which the other didn't protest, though had the urge to pull away and make a run for it. Maybe there was a good reason why Dipper shouldn't trust Bill _or_ his friends.

“So how long exactly are we planning to be here?” the younger asked as soon as Bill rang the doorbell. A small jingle played, sending a shiver down his spine. “I have, like, nervous tensions when it comes to people I don't know, especially people who live in places like this one, so…”

“Calm your shit. We won't be here long, we're just going to the basement, searching for the television, and leaving. I'm pretty sure I've said this one thousand times before.” Bill tilted his head to one side. “And what's wrong with Tad's house? I think it's a lovely place to live.”

Dipper supposed he should've expected that, considering that Bill was technically homeless and all.

After an agonizing moment of silence there came the sound of footsteps from within the house, approaching the door, and a second later there was the soft sound of a lock being undone. The door was pushed open and Bill released Dipper's arm, smirking.

The young male who had answered the door was certainly around Bill's age, like the blond had said before, with milk white skin, silky black hair, and dark, piercing blue eyes that looked almost wisdomly, as if they could stare deep into a person's soul. He wore a purple T-shirt and black jeans with a chain belt, as if he were some type of band freak or even a gang member (Dipper shuddered at the thought of either or). He leaned casually against the doorframe as his eyes thoroughly examined the two who had decided to show up at his house. However so, his gaze seemed to be rested on Dipper for a split second more than on Bill, making the brunet's ears heat up with discomfort.

“Hello, William.” His voice was soft and light, and he spoke calmly, which would've been reassuring- but it only felt like ice in Dipper's blood. “I see you've brought someone with you today.” He smiled and held out a hand. “My name's Tad, if Bill hasn't told you about me already.” He chuckled, like it were the funniest thing in the world. “Tad Strange.”

Dipper reluctantly took Tad's hand and shook it courteously, pulling away before things could possibly become awkward. Like Bill had said before, awkward was the last thing he wanted this to be. “And I'm Dipper. Dipper Pines. I'm, uh, Bill's dorm roommate.”

Tad squinted. “Fish?”

“E-Excuse me?”

“Freshman,” explained Tad.

 _Right._ Dipper nodded, feeling stupid.

The black-haired male flashed another smile, this one much wider than the last. “Why, that's lovely! I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay here in Gravity Falls! Good luck in all your classes.” With that said, he gaze landed on Bill, and his smile faltered only slightly. “I'm guessing you didn't come here with your friend to play chess, William? Is there something you need?” His eyes widened. “Is something wrong?”

Bill crossed his arms over his chest. “I need to get into your basement,” he began to explain. “The television in our dorm room doesn't work, so I figured I could get the old one I used in my apartment from here.”

“Well, that sure does sound like a dilemma,” Tad replied, tapping his chin in thought. “Of course you can come in. I _did_ promise that you can access your stuff whenever you pleased, so go ahead.” He stepped aside so that Bill and Dipper could enter. “William, you know your way to the basement. You can get your TV and join me for tea, if you wish.” He closed the door and walked off into the kitchen, which was just past the living room itself.

“No thanks, Strange,” Bill replied, grasping Dipper by his arm yet again. “We're just gonna be here for a few minutes. Don't mind us.”

Dipper couldn't take in a single detail of the house's interior before he was being dragged off to another part of the house forcibly, only stopping only he was in a very small and cramped room that had a staircase the lead downwards. A door was at the foot of the stairs, the door to the basement, he assumed.

The blond male didn't release his arm still, continuing to drag him down the steps and to the said door, twisting the knob and pushing it open with ease, then unmercifully shoving the other into the basement, after this walking in himself and flipping a switch, closing the door.

“Careful with all the tugging, Cipher,” was the first thing that Dipper said, examining the indents that Bill's nails left in the fleshy part of his elbow. He winced in pain. “It stings…”

Bill sighed. “Sorry.”

Before either of the two could speak another word, a lightbulb hanging loosely from the ceiling finally began to turn on, only flickering wildly at first, which kind of hurt to look at, before finally turning on, illuminating the basement.

It wasn't as disgusting here as Dipper anticipated it would be, much to his relief, even organized to some type of degree. A mountain of cardboard boxes was in one corner, holding what he assumed must be all of Bill's stuff, a mini fridge and a bicycle in another, and just about the other half of the basement was full of firewood. The walls of the place were gray and bland, made of concrete, probably. The were only a few things about this place that particularly bothered Dipper, and those things were the distant smell of mildew from possible floods and the likelihood of cockroaches being around, with all the wood and such.

Dipper tapped Bill on the shoulder again, like he had done at Greasy's Diner, and nodded towards the boxes. “So do you have any idea where the TV could possibly be in all of that. It's starting to feel really cold and I don't have the sweater my sister knit me right now.”

The older male shrugged. “No idea. I haven't been here in a month or two.”

Well, that sure was nice to know. Dipper watched Bill walk over to the mountain and begin to remove boxes, from the top first, obviously. These ones were probably lighter, and the brunet assumed that all the heavier stuff, such as the television itself, must be towards the bottom of the pile. Oh, joy. But he walked over as well and began to help the blond remove the stuff, standing only a few feet apart from him and trying to ignore the light murmuring of a song that he'd never heard before.

Fortunately all the boxes had labels previously written on them in black Sharpie marker on one side- albeit in crude, sharp letters that sort of hurt to look at, but what was the point in complaining- so opening them to see what was inside wasn't needed, saving them a little bit of time. However so, whenever Dipper looked over to see how his roommate was doing in the search, the blond would be staring at a box, eyes narrowed, indicating that he was having a difficult time reading. That to which Dipper would react by leaning over, reading the label, and pointing out what it said to the other.

“That's an antique lamp, Bill," he said, biting back an amused laugh and returning to taking down the mountain.

He could've sworn that Bill was blushing when he looked over at him again. “I know that.”

“Guess that makes us even.” Dipper mused. “I don't know how to walk, you don't know how to read…”

“Shut up.”

Dipper only hummed in response, struggling a little in order to place down one of the heavier boxes, this one labeled _items from Mom's trip to Egypt_ without dropping it onto his feet and breaking every one of  his toes. Now they were getting towards the bottom of the pile, meaning that the TV couldn't be too far from their grasp now…

“I think I found it,” grumbled Bill, placing a box on the ground. It landed with a soft thump.

The other male placed the one he was holding back in the pile and moved a little so he could read what the label on Bill's said. And, sure enough, written in all capital letters was the word _television,_ clear as day. “Yep. This is the one, alright.”

Bill scoffed. “You didn't have to look at it, I knew this was the right one all along.” It was kind of cute when he complained about things that didn't matter. “I mean, like, I'm not blind. So there,” He finished, sticking out his tongue for that extra eight-year-old effect.

Very mature, indeed.

Dipper smiled. “Let's head back to our room.”

* * *

 

By the time they made it back to the dormitories it was sometime in the late morning, towards the early afternoon. They would've gone back much sooner if it wasn't for Bill taking so much time with the television. He was obviously struggling with the weight of the thing, though he didn't seem to want to admit it, and angrily refused whenever Dipper made an offer to help him out, which of course lead the blond to his current state- forehead and hair drenched with sweat from both heat _and_ exhaustion, a limp in his walk as if he had some type of strain on one or both of his legs, and the occasional grunt of pain he gave off. At first Dipper was having a hard time trying not to laugh at him, but at this point it was getting really sad to watch.

Reaching into his pocket, the younger male fished out the room's key then unlocked the door and pushed it open. He stepped aside so that Bill could go in first, with carrying the weight of the TV like the hero he was and all.

Once they were both inside the room, door closed, Bill grumbled something under his breath and dropped the box onto the ground. He got down onto his knees and began to unplug the broken television, placing the cord near his feet, then stood up again so that he could remove Mr. Broken from its spot, putting it down on the ground. He wrapped up its cord into a neat bundle and placed atop it, moving all that out of the way so he could make room for the new TV.

Dipper had completely forgotten about his own existence until Bill snapped at him, not looking up, “So are ya gonna help me or not? I'm the only person who's actually doing any kind of work here.”

“O-Oh, yeah. Sorry," the other male replied, making a move to step away from the door and head across the room so that he could assist Bill, but stopped short when he heard something crumple underneath his foot. Slowly, he stepped backward to look at what he had stepped on. A piece of paper. He quickly said, “Hold on one second, I'll be right there!” so that Bill wouldn't yell at him again, then reached down and picked up the paper. It was folded in half, with two words written in curly handwriting on the outside.

_William Cipher._

Licking his lips, Dipper looked up at Bill out of instinct. The blond didn't seem to care whether or not he was getting help anymore, muttering to himself about lazy people whilst he moved the TV from the box into place. It was smaller than the one that had been in place before it, but not by much.

Not that it mattered, because right now Dipper was in a debate on whether or not he should give Bill the paper, as obviously it was for him. Someone had probably slid it under the door while they were out to get the TV, Dipper was sure. What was it for, though? He really wanted to know. He checked again to make sure that Bill wasn't looking and hesitantly began to unfold the paper, this being more difficult than it should have, considering that his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He shouldn't be doing this.

Whoever had taken the time to make this and print it out had an obsession with color and variety, was the first thing that he noted. Literally every word was in a different shade of a color, all of that in a crazy font. Clip art of balloons and party streamers were littered throughout the page. It read:

 

**_PYRONICA AND 8 BALL'S LAST DAY OF SUMMER BLOWOUT PARTY!_ **

**_AUGUST 31st, 8PM - 12AM_ **

**_@ DUSK 2 DAWN_ **

**_*MUST BRING A DATE OR ROOMMATE!! ALL LONERS WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE PARTY._ **

**_BE THERE OR BE SQUARE._ **

 

And at the bottom were two phone numbers, most likely to contact either one of the party-throwers for questions or anything.

The date and location of the party were what caught Dipper's eye the most.

 _August 31st._ That was his birthday. He'd almost forgotten that it was the last day of summer vacation before classes started up for the year. It made sense why someone would want to throw a party on that day.

The location, though, _hardly_ seemed like an appropriate place to have a party. He remembered passing by Dusk 2 Dawn while he was heading to Tad's place with Bill, and the blond had said that it was a convenience store that was shut down many years ago because the owners died. To make it all the more uncomfortable, there were rumors that the ghost of the owners haunted the place, practically waiting for some idiot to stray onto their property. But ghosts weren't real, Dipper knew that…

Then again, no one would really think to go there, so it was also the _perfect_ place to throw a party. One of the variables being that this was a _college_ party assured that there was going to alcohol in some form, and that someone and/or everyone was garunteed to get drunk.

“Ahem.”

Dipper couldn't help but jump, snapping out of his thoughts. What he had not expected when he looked up was for his face to be less than an inch away from Bill's. And the older male didn't exactly seem like a bundle of joy at the moment, to say the least, only making him feel worse.

There was the distant sound of the newly placed television playing a movie from across the room.

Bill looked between Dipper and the party invitation a few times, his jaw clenched.

“So I assume you enjoy reading other people's mail, kid?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support and stuff, you guys! I know this story isn't as popular as some fics, and it will most likely never be, but it makes me feel so special when I read your little comments! You guys are literally the best TBH. Love ya. <3
> 
> I promise I'll try to make myself an update schedule, but it can't be garunteed right now with my stressing for finals and such. My last day of school is May 31st, so maybe by then I'll have my shit together. Who knows. I digress.
> 
> Catch you on the flip side.


	9. Love is Polar

Being ignored _sucked._

Of course, Dipper was never really one who asked for, much less looked for or even wanted, any kind of attention, but having Bill constantly finding ways to avoid him was beginning to get kind of irritating after a day or two. The blond didn't speak to him at all after the whole party invitation incident, and disregarded him whenever he tried to start up a conversation or simply try to gain his attention.

The new television was used to its max during this time as a type of distraction as well, Dipper reading sadly whilst Bill watched gory, R rated horror movies, and the next few mornings when the brunet would wake up from slumber, the TV would still be on and Bill would be asleep, a sign that the older male was too inconsiderate to do something as simple as turning it off before he went to sleep. Dipper tried unsuccessfully not to get bothered by it.

The worst part of it all? Dipper couldn't stop himself from wondering if Bill was going to the party and, if he was, who he would bring with him. Like the invitation said, the people invited had to bring a date or roommate or be booted from the party, which was strange, in all honesty, but whatever. Not that Dipper actually _cared_ about any of that…right?

A date or roommate…. Well, Dipper was Bill's roommate, so if Bill couldn't find a date to go to the party with, he would technically have to take Dipper in order to attend it at all.

The thought of this made the brunet's heart leap with _some_ type of emotion, and a small part of him wished that Bill wouldn't be able to find a date in the end; and he didn't even _like_ parties. Somehow, though, he felt that this stupid hope didn't have anything to do with going to the party, but going to the party _with Bill._ He didn't know why.

The next few days he pondered this with dread having a tight hold on his chest, making it hard to breathe at almost all times. He also could've sworn that he almost got a hernia when he woke up on August 31st, his birthday and the day of the party at Dusk 2 Dawn, only to look across the large room and see that his dorm mate wasn't even there.

Blinking any leftover sleep out of his mocha eyes, the now nineteen-year-old took a moment to process the cold emptiness of Bill's bed. It was still very messy, as it usually was, knowing Bill, with one of the impossibly soft pillows near the foot of the bed instead of at the head and one of the large, plush sheets hanging off the edge of the mattress in a seemingly careless manner, like Bill had gotten out of bed in a rush.

Dipper's heart sank. To avoid him, he assumed. He let out a sad sigh and ran one hand through the rat's nest that was his hair, focusing on _not_ crying. But why would he feel like crying? Bill wasn't his friend, that had been established a long while ago, and yet, and even freaking _yet,_ he would be telling a lie if he said that he hasn't enjoyed it when he and the other male were relatively casual around one another. Sure, Bill was kind of obnoxious and really hard to be around whenever he started to talk about- cue loud coughing- absolutely ridiculous things, but still he was funny and sometimes okay to be around in his own weird, Bill-ish type of way.

What a disappointment.

There was no use in freaking out and being sad about it, though, Dipper knew. It was his _birthday_ today, for crying out loud! He should be in a _good_ mood. And a good mood he shall be in, if he would have to wind up forcing himself into it or not.

He grabbed his phone so that he could shoot his twin sister a happy birthday text only to find that she'd beat him to it. Twelve new messages from Mabel, all of them sent between 12 A.M. and 4 A.M., which was a low number in such a long amount of time for someone as persistent and annoying as she. Dipper couldn't help bit laugh as he sent her a quick but wholehearted reply. Then he placed the phone back on the dresser next to his bed, where it always rested, standing and walking over to the room's bathroom, his bare toes sinking into the soft colored carpet that lined the ground with each step.

A type of realization formed in his mind once he was halfway across the room, leading to an idea. It was a desperate one, but he grinned anyways, cupping both his hands around his mouth and spinning in a full circle. He said, in a teasing voice, “Oh, alright, I guess my own roommate isn't here on my birthday! How sad.” There was no reply. “I'm _pretty_ sure he said he was going to get me a present.” Still nothing, but he continued to try. “Did he happen to have left it here somewhere, I wonder.”

He began to pace around a little, examining every inch of the room as he did so, as if he expected Bill himself to materialize in from the walls. And maybe he did. Probably. He pressed onwards. “Or, I don't know, maybe _Bill's_ still here," he said loudly, giving a half-assed shrug. “Maybe he's hiding somewhere in this room right now…” He sauntered over to Bill's side of the room and leaned down at the side of his bed, “...waiting to give me a birthday _scare!_ ” He shouted out the last part for emphasis, lifting up the hanging sheet swiftly and looking under the bed, to which he was greeted by-

Nothing.

Complete fucking _nothing._

“...Or not.” The young male blushed at his own ridiculous antics, and the foolish hope that this little plan of his would've worked. His grip tightened on the sheet for a moment before he finally released it, letting it hang loosely again. In his newly regained despair he headed back towards the bathroom, like he had been planning to do before, all his muscles aching from just having woken up a few mere minutes ago.

Placing his hand on the knob, turning it slowly, he slowly pushed the door open.

“ _HAPPY BIRTHDAY!_ ” shouted the person he least expected, catching him completely and totally off guard.

The birthday boy let out an unintentional screech of fear,taking a short step back and immediately tripping over himself, causing him to lose his balance. He flailed his arms helplessly, his chance of being able to fly as great as a chicken's, and would've hit the ground head first if it wasn't for the hand that shot out and caught his wrist at last second, saving him from a rough fall.

Bill Cipher began to laugh hysterically, obviously amused. He was wearing his usual pajamas, which were pitch black with yellows triangles, meaning he had probably woken up not long ago. Even his normally perfect blond locks were sticking out in random places, indicating that he had also not taken the time to brush it or anything while he had been creepily waiting in the bathroom. The hand that wasn't easily supporting all of Dipper's body weight was holding a small gift-wrapped box. A present of some sort, perhaps?

But it was hard to think about that with Bill currently being in Asshole Mode Alpha. “O-Oh my God! Oh man, Pine Tree!” He reached up with the hand that was holding the box and wiped a tear that had been forming in one eye. “This is hilarious! You should see your face right now! It's _golden._ ” He paused, shit-eating smirk faltering for a second or two before returning. “Well, actually, it's more of a pinkish red color, but I'm sure you get the idea.”

Grumbling swears under his breath, Dipper allowed Bill to help him up, the blush on his face burning like a fire, and once he had both feet planted firmly on the ground he brushed invisible, non existent dust off his clothes and glared at the older male. “Do you have any _idea_ how much you scared me?” Bill opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off before he could utter a peep. “I almost had a heart attack!”

Bill let out a _pshhh_ noise through one side of his mouth, tossing the box he'd been holding back and forth between his hands. “There's no need to be a baby about it! If you had _actually_ gotten a legitimate heart attack, the chances are high that you'd be lying still on the ground, and I mean that in a bad way. Dead. Gone. Rest in spaghetti.” Dipper blanched. “Hey, don't look at me like that! I'm only here with the facts, kid, so get your panties out of a bunch and join reality, huh?” Then his grin widened, and he continued to speak still. “So do ya remember when we went to Greasy's and I almost sent you back here because I said there was something I needed to do?”

The birthday boy nodded, not yet quite sure where the other was planning to go with this. Best to stay on guard. “I guess," he said. “Why wouldn't I? That was only a few days ago.”

“Uh-huh.” The blond stopped tossing the box between his hands and held it out to the other instead. “A secret between you and me, huh? I'm really just a big idiot with dates, thanks to my extremely tight-packed schedule, so I couldn't find the perfect opportunity to get you your birthday present until then. But, of course, _you_ were there with me, and I can't get a gift for you for your birthday with you there watching me do it, right?” He didn't give Dipper a single second to say anything in response before pressing on, “Yeah, totally. Exactly. That's why I took some time out of the day _yesterday_ to get you the thing I had found online and wanted to buy. The store's somewhere downtown, so it wasn't too much trouble. However, it _did_ cost me a few bucks, which admittedly might wind up hurting me sometime in the near future financially, but who cares? Everyone in America is broke nowadays. It winds up balancing out.”

That explained a lot...about both what Bill was planning _and_ the economy. Dipper gingerly took the box from Bill's hand and examined it with a careful eye, as if it were holding a bomb or some other type of deadly weapon. The wrapping paper that concealed it was baby blue, one of his favorite colors, littered with little white cloud designs. It was kind of cute looking, he couldn't lie. Picking a little at the red bow atop it, he smiled up at the buyer of this present. “Thanks a ton. It means a whole lot to me, but-” He frowned. “You didn't need to spend anything that's out of your range in order to get this for me. Like, I would've been perfectly fine with a card and five dollars. In fact, regarding you, I wouldn't have cared at all if you had gotten me a box full of dry air.” He slowly began to offer the box back.

“Oh, but I insist.” Bill replied craftily, placing his hands atop the other's as a way to cut him short. Their fingers seemed to linger for an eternity longer than what was necessary, then he finally pulled away. “Besides, I already gave the damn thing to you. The rules of something-or-other state that once a gift is given to you, you can't give it back to the person that got it for you. So I think that you should open it.” He let his hands hang loosely at his sides and, when the other didn't respond, let out an annoyed groan. “Come on, Pine Tree, I know we've had some bad blood, if that's the correct terminology, over these past few weeks, but I promise this isn't a Jack-in-a-box or whatever the hell people use as pranks these days. Fake vomit?” He sucked his teeth. “This gift will only be worth the money if you open it and like it, therefore you'd better open it and like it.”

Dipper nodded, slowly, though he still didn't open the gift right away. Instead he tugged at the white tag tied to the bow with a thin string. What he saw written on the _To:_ address wasn't his name, much to his confusion, but a bunch of nonsense in sharp, sloppy penmanship.

_GLSSHU SLQHV._

“Uh…” All he could do was stare, perplexed.

“Three letters back.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

Bill rolled his eyes, like the answer should be the most obvious thing in the world. “I said ‘three letters back,’ kid. Do you not know how to speak English?”

 _Three letters back?_ Dipper blinked again and squinted down at the tag, trying to decipher it. What the hell was ‘three letters back' supposed to-

_Oh._

It took him a few seconds to see what Bill meant, but he came to realize it actually _was_ his name written on the tag. All he had to do was look at each individual letter, and move it back by three…

_DIPPER PINES._

“Whoa.” Dipper said stupidly, releasing the tag. His smile returned. “That's pretty cool, to be honest. Did you come up with this?”

The older male side-waved one of his hands in a _sort of_ gesture. “If you wanna hear the truth, this whole thing was technically something that one of my friends came up when we were little kids. I only forwarded the idea.” He pursed his lips. “Actually, now that I think about it, I'm sure that it was Tad who thought of it. Hard to remember, it was so many years ago. We were so small and cute at the time, around ten years old, maybe? Up to even now me and my friends use this to talk to each other when we don't want other to know what we're talking about. Comes in handy when we want to see our dealer.” He chuckled.

“What if someone cracks the code?” the birthday boy asked, ignoring the last comment out of disgust.

A half-hearted sniff. “Highly unlikely. People are way too ignorant to sit down and think about stuff like that. One look at that-” Bill gestured to the tag. “-and about ninety percent of people will assume we're a bunch of crazy people randomly jamming random keys on our phones.”

“That’s nice.” Dipper's smile grew into a smirk. “Since you told me about this, does this make me one of your friends?” He asked.

“ _Acquaintance._ ” Bill corrected crudely, his freckled cheeks growing the lightest shade of pink. He shook it off quickly, however, though not fast enough for the other not to notice, and clenched his hands into fists, suddenly seeming about ready to punch the living shit out of someone. He leaned casually against the doorframe. “That doesn't matter. Just open up your stupid present before I grouch.”

Best to take that warning seriously. Dipper pulled the bow off first, which was easy because it was just taped on the box, letting it slowly drift to the ground, then clawed his way past the wrapping paper. He let this fall to the ground as well with the short promise to himself to clean it up later. The gift that had been hidden by all of this was a small white box with a top that could be lifted right off. But it had an expensive vibe to it. There was a logo on the top of it that he recognized on sight, one for a jewelry store, and he had vague memories of Mabel complaining because she'd never been able to afford anything from the place, like the emerald earrings they always advertised in those untimely late-night commercials that no one ever paid any mind to.

“I...I really shouldn't," he started, not wanting to meet Bill's eyes. “I know you said you're trying to save up money for a place to live, so I-”

“It's _fine._ ”

Hesitation. Then, “If you truly mean it…”

“I do.”

Knowing there was no use in protesting, Dipper lifted off the top to reveal the piece of jewelry that was inside, which fortunately _wasn't_ those pair of emerald earrings.

No, those were pieces of garbage compared to this beauty; This was a necklace, but also not one of those false gold ones that a cheapskate could purchase for seventy-five cents at the local dollar store. It was real, _actual_ silver, from what he could tell, anyway, that glittered brightly when early morning sunlight from the room's window reflected on it. A single charm hung down from it when Dipper held it out, much to his  annoyance a pine tree shaped one, but whatever comment he was planning to make was caught deep in his throat at the sight of the beautiful sapphire gemstones that lined it.

It was simply amazing, and how Bill could afford this, he didn't know. He was more than gracious for this either way.

“So, do you like it?” Bill asked. “The very shocked expression on your face says that you do, but that could possibly just be me interpreting it wrong.” He grinned as he took the white box and it's top from the birthday boy, allowing him to only have the necklace. “Sure, I guess you could say it's kinda girly, with all the shiny, glittery bling to it, but when I saw it I thought of you. It felt perfect.”

Dipper didn't respond right away. He couldn't take his eyes off the very expensive, very well thought of gift. He licked his lips and finally bobbed his head up and down once, quickly, in a curt nod. “No, no, this is literally one of the greatest presents anyone has ever gotten me for my birthday. Also probably one of the most expensive, if not _the_ most expensive. I almost want to return it and give you your money back, this is only spoiling me. This… How much did it cost you?”

The older male shrugged. “Not much, no biggie," he said, and frowned deeply. “Only about… oh, well, if I told you that, you'd want it give it back more than you already do, and I'd probably wind up killing you mercilessly in such a case, and that would be the last thing I'd want to do to you on your own birthday.”

“I'm tempted to, honestly.” Dipper frowned as well. He gazed up at Bill for a moment, and their eyes locked. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before the younger of the two blushed and looked down again. He lowered his head slightly so he could put the necklace around his neck, shivering at the cold feel of the metallic element touching his sensitive skin. Then he smiled up at Bill again. “How does it look? Not too girly, I hope?”

“You _are_ kind of like a girl, anyway,” Bill mused, “so I don't necessarily see why that should concern you as much as it seems to.” That comment didn't come out as mean as it should have, Dipper knew, and Bill being red to the tips of his ears wasn't exactly aiding in his case, either. “I'm kidding," he muttered eventually. “I think it looks amazing on you. And happy birthday, again.”

“And again, thanks.” The younger male rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Also, I'm super sorry for reading the party invitation instead of giving it to you right away. It was clearly meant for you, none of my business at all. I'd be mad at me, too.”

Bill raised his brows, now finding an entirely new way to play with the box, this time by repeatedly putting on and pulling off the top. At first he didn't offer any sort of reaction, which was unnerving, to say the least, his eyes glazed over and staring off towards the ceiling, showing that he was deeply engaged in thought. After about thirty years of waiting, he shrugged and said, “To be completely honest, I was only mad at you for like an hour, and yet that was only because I was stressed from having to carry that television all the way over here from Tad's. The real reason I didn't talk to you for the next few days, up until now, was because I wanted you to think I was still mad so my surprise could be a whole lot more, you know, surprising.” He laughed. “And it worked! You should've seen your face! Wish I had a camera with me right then, I swear. Though I must say, at times it was hard to try to ignore you, you literally looked _that_ sad. It started to make me feel a little depressed. I had no idea you were so sad without me.”

“Why would you care about how I feel?” Dipper asked quizzically. “I thought you were supposed to be the ‘heart of stone’ type of guy.”

The blond sighed and leaned his head against the doorframe, his eyes fluttering shut. He wrapped his arms around himself as if he were cold, despite the fact it was eighty degrees outside and the air conditioner hadn't quite adjusted enough to the temperature to kick in yet. “I don't know for certain,” he said, “but I think it might have to do with what I told you on the day you arrived here and we first met, thirteen days ago: I like you, Pine Tree. You remind me of how I used to be before my life changed drastically, though I didn't come to realize that until only a little bit ago.”

When Dipper didn't reply, he continued. “I used to be such a smart kid, such a fucking nerd. I recall getting bullied a lot by bigger and buffer kids at a super young age. I had no friends, never did, but I didn't care. All I cared about was school. And books. Books, books, books. I brought at least one with me everywhere I went, to study or read.” He let out a breath through his nose. “I loved reading and writing. Heck, I loved _all_ my classes. Especially art, I had a special place in my heart for that. I couldn't be happier. Then it kinda changed when my mom and dad divorced when I was seven and my mom dragged me off to America while my dad decided to stay behind in London.

“American school was so much worse for me, in my opinion. Bullies were so much more physical, kids were so much more caught up in their phones and shit, teachers were more drawn back. I hated it. We were in New York City at the time, I believe. Manhattan. We were there for three months before my mom said that she didn't feel safe there and we headed all the way across the country to here, Gravity Falls, Oregon. A country approach was better for us two, she said, all the more calming. She said she used to live here long before she moved to London and met my dad, resulting in the creation and birth of me, yada yada yada, but you can probably get that last part.”

Dipper finally took a moment to speak. “Did the town change at all since the last time she was here?” he asked.

“Mhm. A ton. She spent _forever_ complaining about it once we arrived, especially the building of this college in particular. It hadn't been around when _she_ was a kid, she said. What a way to ruin such a cute, quiet town, she said. But I was only eight at this time. I was too young and happy and ignorant to linger upon negative things like that for too long. Believe it or not, I wound up falling in love with this dumb ol’ town within a few days.”

Bill opened his eyes partway and looked directly at Dipper, his gaze focused. “You know, I told you you'd like it here in this town for a reason. Social outcasts, or just outcasts in general, like you and I, _belong_ here. It was here I met Tad, Py, and 8 Ball, who became almost as close to me as my mom. They always were my only friends, but Py and 8 Ball wound up both moving to their own places, so by the time I was twelve it was just me and Tad. And we both still live here after all of these years, proof that we both never really had anywhere else to go.”

“Wait a minute.” Dipper attempted to ignore the other's cold stare. “Py and 8 Ball…” he repeated. “ _Pyronica_ and 8 Ball? Aren't those the two people whose names were on the party invitation? You said they moved. They moved back here, then, right, seeing that they're here at the moment? It would be the only logical explanation.”

“Wow, you catch on fast.” Bill praised, but he didn't smile, so it sounded almost sarcastic. “Yes, that is correct. They both wanted to come back here for college.”

The brunet nodded. “Okay, makes sense. But, uh…” His next words tasted bitter on his tongue. “When exactly did your mom kick her bucket- so to speak- in all of this? What happened to your dad? Did he ever come here to see or take care of you at any time? It would make sense it he did, considering he was still in London when you came to America…” He tapped his chin in thought. “There are a lot of holes in your story, it doesn't make any sense to m-”

“I've strayed far from the point I was trying to make already, Pines.” Bill replied. “Don't bring it any further away.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “My point is that my life sucks. Okay? End of story.”

“But wh-”

“How do you feel about college parties?”

This caught Dipper off guard. “Uh, I don't know," he said honestly. “It's not like I've been in college long enough to experience one before?” Still, he refused to be thrown off topic. “We were just talking about-”

Bill held up a hand, cutting him off for the third time in a row. Dipper took it as a sign and clamped his mouth shut. And Bill said, “That's cool. Now, how would you feel about going to your very first college party? Like, today, on your own birthday? Sounds fun, don't you think?”

The younger male already knew where he was going with this. Whatever they had been talking about before was momentarily flushed out of his mind as his heart began to beat a little faster, gradually picking up more and more speed as the seconds passed on. “You...You want me to go as your date?” He squeaked out.

“Hell no. I want you to go as my _roommate,_ Pine Tree.” Bill looked as if the alternate idea disgusted him. “After all, the invitation says that no loners are allowed, and I doubt Py and 8 Ball are gonna let me slide in all easy because I've known them for years. I would've asked someone else by now, honestly, but finding people who aren't complete idiots is hard.” He gestured with his thumb towards the door of the room, probably referring to the other students staying in the dorms. “So you're coming.”

“What if I say no?”

“Ha. You won't.”

 _Well, with logic like that…_ Dipper thought sarcastically, biting on the inside of his cheek. And to think he'd come so close to getting to know Bill better, too. It was all a fruitless effort in the end, he supposed. If the blond wanted to be a cryptic asshole and not give all the details to the story, alright. That was fine. Not for the first time, Dipper had to remind himself that this was all technically none of his business.

Finally, he nodded, his eyes angrily meeting Bill's as he did. He said, “Yeah, you got me there. I'll go with you to your friends’ party.” He hoped he wasn't blushing as hard as he thought he was.

“I _hate_ parties…” he muttered, more so to himself than the other male, who looked like he heard him despite this.

“What's up with you and not wanting to have fun?”

Dipper scrunched up his nose. “You're just angry because my version of ‘fun' isn't what you want it to be. You know, for example, how your's is all like-” He paused so that he could count on his fingers, “Step one, go to the party. Step two, consume an insane amount of alcohol, so much that I almost wind up dying from intoxication. Step three, find a girl and fuck her senseless. Step four, forget all about it in the morning and suffer from an intense hangover- which _is_ a step I have witnessed before. Step five, repeat, repeat, repeat. I have no fucking idea why you haven't been caught and expelled yet, frat boy.”

Bill almost looked as if he were either about to cry or scream. But he did neither, only exhaling deeply and pushing away from the doorframe. He walked up to his roommate and leaned down slightly due to their difference in height so that they were nose to nose. When he spoke, his voice wasn't in a deep and deadly tone like the other male had expected it to be. It was surprisingly soft and sprinkled with questioning curiosity. However there was still a slight threatening undertone.

“Tell me, Dipper Pines,” he said, which caused a short double-take in the other, “when was the last time you had fun? And I don't mean a ‘stay in my room and write an essay' kind of fun. No, the type of fun I refer to is hanging out with people that don't annoy you- or, not completely, anyway- and are comfortable to be around?” His voice grew more and more passionate as he went on. “When was the last time you had such a God damn good time that the rest of the world went away? This isn't necessarily limited to parties. I'm talking about _anything,_ really, because _anything_ can be made into the greatest time you've ever had!” His eyes glittered with excitement. “Hasn't anyone ever told you to live life to the fullest, Dipper Pines?”

“What is the point of-”

Bill pressed a finger to the other’s lips. He spoke calmly again, though the brightness in his freckled face didn't quite fade away, especially not the beautiful sparkle in his golden orbs. “We're all going to die one day, Pine Tree. Let's face the real facts here. Do you _seriously_ want to go out and have everyone in your life remember you as the boring, nerdy guy who spent his entire existence too busy reading to ever focus on anything else?”

“No…?” Dipper said, the word coming out as less of and answer and more of a question. After a moment of thought, he shook his head and repeated himself, this time with a ferocious amount of confidence. “No, I don't.”

The blond male smiled at this. “Glad to hear that. I mean, I'm not saying that you have to be like _me,_ but you definitely can't be a big ol' lamey lame.” He sighed. “So I'll ask you one more time, and I know you won't say no; Do you want to go to the party with me? As my roommate, of course.”

“As long as you don't force me to drink or anything, yes. Definitely.” Dipper allowed his shoulders to relax. “And for the thousandth time, thanks for the birthday present," he chided, playing a little with the pine tree necklace.

“Like I told you before,” Bill replied, “it was no problem. Just trying to make amends for all the shit I gave you before. I think. Either that or I was just trying to be nice. Haven't made up my mind on that one yet.” He shrugged and added, “Since the party isn't until tonight we have an entire day of free time. Do you have an idea of what we could do in mind?”

Dipper ran one of his hands through his brunet curls tiredly. He'd almost completely forgotten that it was still early morning and he hadn't even brushed his teeth or taken a shower yet. He quickly came up with an answer. “How about we… I think I would much rather stay here all day, reading and watching TV or whatever. It would be best if we saved up our energy for the party. Right?” He looked to Bill for conversation. When the blond nodded, he forced a smile. “Yeah.” Rubbing his elbow, he made an attempt at side stepping Bill. “And, if you'll excuse me, _I'm_ taking the bathroom now. I'm not sure how long you've been in there waiting to give me a stroke on my birthday, but I'm certain it was long enough.”

Bill didn't protest to that, allowing him to pass, his expression unreadable.

Dipper locked the bathroom door once he was inside, inhaling the familiar, sweet smell of minty toothpaste. His eyes darted down to the small sliver of space that was between the bottom of the door and the ground. He waited until the bottom of Bill's feet were no linger visible before he started to brush his teeth and, once that task was complete, started to undress himself so he could take a morning shower.

Once completely bare, he headed across the bathroom to a small indent in the wall, where there was a small washer and drier, and dumped his clothes into the washer. Slamming the lid with brute force, he then opened the drier and took out some of his clothes that had been cleaned the day prior, including a shirt, jeans, and his towel.

There were several things he thought about while he was in the shower, though his original intent was to relax. The water was steaming hot, how he usually liked it. He stood content for a few minutes, simply allowing the water to slide down his body, his eyes closing at his thoughts forcibly began to race at one thousand miles be hour.

Bill was a difficult person to converse with, that was something for certain. Staying focused on one particular topic with him was next to impossible, as the blond jumped from one thing to the next and with no warning at all. It was random. It was confusing. Especially for someone such as Dipper Pines, who was the kind of person who listened enough to never stray off a topic until he was satisfied with the outcome of the conversation, which he knew was one of the hundreds of things that made him and Bill complete polar opposites.

It was funny, thinking about it. He remember when he was in grade school, little magnets littered on his desk as his teacher explained in a soft voice that opposites attract to one another. Ironic that he should be recalling upon a small thing like that over ten years later as a young adult in college. And maybe, as he really considered it, this weird polar attraction thing was the reason that he decided to stay with Bill even after all the disputes they had.

Sighing, he leaned his head back against the wall, allowing the water to hit his face. He rubbed at one of his cheeks, the one he was vaguely aware of Bill pressing a kiss upon about a week before.

He wondered what Bill was thinking right now, and if he felt the same way.


	10. Love is Extravagant

The town of Gravity Falls was so much more quiet at night than in the day, and that was saying a lot, because not many people were outside as it already was. The only light that existed was that of the street lights themselves, which loomed overhead like tall dark figures. It was creepily quiet, with the occasional scuttle of a mouse running down the street and the regular nightly sounds, like those of owls hooting and bugs buzzing about. For someone like Dipper, who came from California, where there was always the hustle of everyday life, even at 3 A.M., this was the most terrifying thing in the world.

Like that was bad enough for him on its own, there was also the matter of Bill dragging him into the back roads and dark, spooky alleys instead of simply walking on the main streets. In about twenty different instants he was tempted to ask the older male why he was doing that, but refrained for two simple reasons, the first one being that he didn't want to sound like a wimp, and the second one being that whenever he so much as took a _step_ the wrong way Bill would smack him lightly over the head and ‘politely' ask him to stop acting idiotic. Because apparently wanting to walk to a destination on the main streets like normal humans beings did was such a stupid idea to have.

 _Going the normal way would've gotten us to where we're going fifteen minutes ago,_ he thought, practically pressing himself against the wall of the building closest to him as he walked on. A cold wind passed by, with the promises of a crisp autumn to come, sending a horrible chill up his spine and bringing a layer of frost on his bones. He lifted his gaze and looked at the form of his roommate, who was only vaguely illuminated by the street lights, making him look mysterious as he took swift, careful steps, as if he was an escaped convict trying to get off the jail grounds as quickly and quietly as possible.

“Why are we sneaking around like a bunch of criminals?” Dipper asked in a hushed voice, making the other male jump up, then turn to look at him.

Bill's golden orbs were blazing. For a minute or two he didn't reply, only stared at the brunet, eyes traveling up and down and examining him as if he were some type of new phone or something. Then he clicked his tongue and said, “Think about it for a minute, kid.” He spoke slowly. “We're literally two college kids walking around at night. If you were an adult that _saw_ two college kids walking around at night, wouldn't you want to know where they were going? You would want to follow them, right?”

“Taking the back roads would only make us look more suspicious, don't you think?”

Bill continued as if there was no interruption. His voice was a whisper, but it felt as if he was screaming. “If _anyone_ that's not a part of this party found out about  _this party,_ then we'd all be expelled. If you couldn't already figure it out, brainiac, this one just so happens to be at an abandoned store for a reason. _It isn't approved by the head._ ”

“That's it.” Dipper made no sort of great expression to show how he felt about that, instead raising both his hands and spinning around, beginning to walk off in the opposite direction of where they were headed. “I'm gone. You want to go to an illegal party, you go by yourself. I'm surprised you've even convinced me to come this far.”

He heard approaching footsteps before Bill grasped onto his elbow, which was actually starting to become a habit of his by now. “No, nope. No you don't. Turn back now and I'm going to give you such a headache for the entire school year. Besides, this isn't only about you. What about _me,_ kid? Without you I can't get into that party, and I _need_ that party.” He tugged- hard, eliciting a yelp of pain from the younger male. “I know how that might sound to you, but _please._ Please, please, please.” His voice was growing desperate. “Don't go away, okay? For me? I don't want to have to beg here, kid.”

Dipper groaned and gave in. “Fine. But I'd better not get into trouble because of this stupid party.” He waited until Bill let go of his arm, then pushed past him out of frustration and kept moving forward, not caring in the slightest if anyone saw him right now. All he had to say was that a psycho was forcing him to go to an illegal party, that was it. Who wouldn't believe the perfect student?

Bill quickly caught up with him, and they continued to walk together in complete silence for a few more blocks, up until Dusk 2 Dawn came into view.

No matter what Bill told him about being careful, it didn't really look like anyone was trying to hide the fact there was a party going on. Bright lights of all different colors flashed from the inside, fast enough to give someone a seizure, and the sound of obnoxiously loud music could be heard. The outside walls of the store were spray painted with disturbing images, bad words, and other types of profanities, with toilet paper hanging all over the place, their empty rolls lying carelessly on the ground. Beer cans, plastic cups, and other miscellaneous things were throw on the ground with that. The scene even came complete with some random couple making out hungrily in the shadows, probably thinking that no one would be able to see them. Dipper gagged and looked down, burying his face in his hands.

“Awful," he said simply.

“Awesome.” Bill said at the same instant.

They looked at each other.

Bill smirked. “What?” He cast a longing look at the building before his eyes fell upon the couple, but it only lasted a second or two, and he turned back to look at his roommate. “Romeo and Juliet over there? No, I wasn't talking about _them._ Gross. I was talking about everything else.”

“Well, what disturbs me is _both_ them and everything else," the brunet grumbled in reply. He looked down at his wristwatch. 8:35. He sighed. They were officially late. “I'm still stuck here for another three hours and twenty five minutes. I have to be in _there_ for another three hours and twenty five minutes.” He pointed towards the store, then at Bill. “With _you._ ” The idea alone was enough to inflict fear inside him. “I'm gonna lose my mind.”

“I should be insulted with a reaction like that.” Bill said. “But I won't. We're going to a party now, so good vibes. Good vibes.” He smiled and placed a hand in Dipper's curls affectionately, stroking it. “So shut up for one night, stop being so uptight, and sit back and relax a little, alright! Do you promise to try to do this for me?”

Dipper slapped him away. “Fine.”

They headed to the fence that separated the store property from the rest of the world. To their relief, it was left unlocked, saving them the relief of having to climb over and jump onto the other side.

Once inside Dipper stepped carefully to avoid crushing any of the litter beneath his feet, so focused on doing so that he almost didn't notice when Bill's hand slipped into his. Almost. When the sensation of being touched finally made its way to his brain and processed as a thought, he blinked first, a few times, then glared at Bill and pried his hand away. Luckily for him, it was too dark out here for his roommate to see how hard he was blushing. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, his voice cracking in thirty different ways.

Bill wasn't looking at him; his eyes were fixated on the door to Dusk 2 Dawn. A tall man was standing directly in front of it, holding a clipboard and wearing an earpiece with a mic connected to it, like he was using it to keep in contact with someone. He was very buff, with a lot of muscle, indicating that he went to the gym offer. His hair was dark like his eyes, which looked ominous, in front of the lights that were coming from the inside. Whatever was on the clipboard, he seemed to be interested in, because he was staring at it intently and scribbling something down.

“Do you mind pretending to be my boyfriend for the night?” Bill asked, his mouth dangerously close to Dipper's ear.

 _Is he talking to me?_ Dipper hesitated. _Of course he is._ His mouth felt dry. “What?” He stuffed his hands into his pockets so that Bill couldn't grab them. “Is that why you… No.” He took a step back. “Hell no. You said that you were taking me here as your roommate, asshole.”

“Everyone else doesn't have to know that.”

“Um, what?”

The blond was beginning to look frustrated. “Look,” he said, “you know how popular I am here, right?” Dipper nodded. “Right. So, if I come to this party with only a roommate, that'll make me look bad because, even though the invitation says to bring either a date or roommate, anyone who _actually_ brings a roommate is kinda bland. Why else do you think Pyronica and 8 Ball won't allow loners in at all?”

Silence. Then, “You're using me.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“That makes me feel _so_ special.” Angrily, Dipper pulled one of his hands out of his pocket, this time allowing Bill to take it. Holding hands, they walked up to the guy at the door, whose features automatically brightened when he caught sight of Bill. He dropped the pen he was using the write onto his clipboard and waved madly.

“Hey, William!” he cheered once they were within ear shot, which was admittedly a foot away. There was a large smirk plastered on his face. “Nice to see ya  finally made it, you late son of a bitch.” His eyes took a moment to travel over to Dipper, his confident look faltering once they did. “And I see you're with a...fish.” He drew out the word as if it Dipper was the worst possible person Bill could come to the party with. “A really small one, I gotta say. Scrawny. Weak.” Dipper bit back a remark. The guy squinted. “Is this kid your roommate? Like, the kid you were talking about.”

 _Oh, so now he's talking about me._ Dipper scrunched up his nose and gave Bill a dirty look.

Bill ignored it and nodded. “Yep, this is him, though he's actually…” He made a short, unrecognizable gesture with his free hand, then cleared his throat loudly.

The buff guy nodded. “Not sure how Pyronica's gonna respond to that, but alright.”

_What?_

“Dipper Pines, meet 8 Ball. 8 Ball, Dipper Pines.” If the blond male noticed how sweaty his roommate's hand became in a matter of two and a half seconds, he didn't show it, only tilting his head slightly to one side. “What are you even doing out here, big guy? Shouldn't you be having fun in there?”

8 Ball shook his head, laughing. “Oh my God, bro, me being out here is punishment. Pyronica nearly snapped my neck because I ate nearly half of the chips before the party started, sometime this morning. I begged her to let me live, and with no injury, so she put me out here until 10:30 as recompense. Let me tell ya something, though. This job sucks balls. I'll give you that.”

Bill nodded in understanding. “Well, I can't say that's surprising to hear, you big wall of meat. I'll find Py and try to talk about it with her for you, maybe find a way to get you out of it, alright?”

“Good luck. She's cranky.” 8 Ball warned. He seemed pleased with the offer, however, opening the door so that they could head inside. “Have fun in there. Maybe you can have an after party at your apartment.” He added with a wink.

Dipper was appalled, but he didn't have the chance to offer a reply before Bill tugged on his hand. “Are you ready for the greatest night of your life?”

“No," the younger replied. He sighed. “Let's go.”

Inside, the music was three thousand times louder, accompanied by the screams and shouts of basically all the party people, enough to make someone's ears bleed out. There was also a lot more litter in here, so much that the actual ground wasn't even visible in some areas, and most of that consisted of alcohol in different forms of containers, including glass bottles and more cans. There was a burning cigarette lying on the ground near Dipper's feet, which he squashed. _I just saved all of you from a possible fire. You're welcome._

All of the store's shelves, still packed with old, expired foods and items that were way out of date, were somehow moved to one corner of the store. Some kids picked foods from these shelves and ate them despite all of it being super old and gross, while others sat atop the shelves and smoked and drank, looking quite pleased with themselves. The only thing in the place that was where it was  _supposed_ to be was the counter with the register, and that was most likely only because it couldn't be moved in the first place. The register was open, however, and empty, meaning that it had been forced open and cleaned dry by some kids prior to this time. Dipper wondered how the owners of the store would react to this, if they were still alive.

The party's DJ was seated at this counter, speakers on either side of him, the obvious source of this terrible music. There was a sign taped onto the front of the counter that read _PYRONICA AND 8 BALL'S GREATEST PARTY EVER,_ which made no sense, considering the party hadn't even started an hour ago, so how could someone determine that yet? It was scribbled all over with marker, adding dumb little lightning bolts and skulls. A red cooler sat down near this, which was where they kept all the drinks.

Lastly, the dance floor itself was the highlight of the entire party, taking up practically the entire free space of the store. There was an estimate of two hundred kids here, all trying to pretend that they could dance well. Someone had installed lights all over the ceiling,  allowing them to hang dangerously from thin strings. They flashed bright colors, red to green to yellow to blue. The only spot of the store that wasn't lit up by this was in one corner, where the store's freezers were, along with a table that held a lot of different snack foods. A group of kids who looked older than Dipper were standing in a crowded circle at the dance floor, shouting “GO! GO! GO!” at someone he couldn't see.

Dipper felt a tight squeeze on his hand and immediately whipped around to look at Bill, who was looking out at the party, his face filled with a childish kind of joy.

“Fucking awesome," he whispered.

“Frat boy.”

Bill didn't look at him, but he shot back, “Fish.”

Pulling his hand away, Dipper wiped any sweat from it onto his pants. He licked his lips out of nervousness. “What do we do now?”

“I'm going to go find Pyronica.” Bill said, walking off without a second glance, grinning widely. He disappeared into the crowd of dancers and others within seconds, not giving Dipper the chance to catch up with him

The brunet's shoulders sagged. “O-Oh.”

Not even three minutes into being at his first frat party and he already lost his fake date/roommate.

Fantastic.

* * *

 

This wasn't the greatest party.

The music was absolutely terrible and nobody here knew how to dance, not to mention there were hardly enough snacks to go around for the entire night. Not as many people showed up as they usually did, either, but even with all of this, how could Bill possibly turn down a party invitation? Pyronica and 8 Ball had thrown better parties in the past before, though, like that fourth of July one two years back… Oh, man, they had to clean up _so_ much vomit, it wasn't even funny (but yes it was). And when that curtain caught on fire and the one kid got so drunk that he threw the TV right out the window? Priceless! Bill wished he could live through all of _that_ again.

He never really quite knew why, but he'd always had a special place in his heart for parties. It'd been that way since he was a little boy. But he didn't mean those lame Star Wars themed parties with the cake that looked like Darth Vader's mask- he loved the kind of ones where everyone he knew would show up to let go and _l_ _ose_ it, just go nuts. Sane people never were all that fun in Bill's eyes. They were much too boring, always using logic and trying to go about things in a civilized way… Bah. Leave that at the door, he would say.

“Heeey, William!”

Bill turned in the direction he heard his name, somewhere off in the crowd of people. Squinting, he tried to identify an individual, but saw no one in particular trying to wave at him or get his attention in any way, so he eventually shrugged it off and kept moving, pushing aside wannabe dancers. If he knew a thing or two about Pyronica, which he did, as he had known her for years, it was that she didn't like to be the center of the party. The spotlight never really was her cup of tea, so to speak, so whenever she and 8 Ball threw a party she preferred to stay in the place with hot guys and crack. She really liked hot guys and crack.

“Watch it!” a shorter kid grumbled after he pushed him aside. “Do you know no respect? Asshole!”

Bill rolled his eyes, not looking back at him. _Please,_ he thought, _you have to earn respect, not demand it like a bitch. Besides, people like you are too idiotic to get any from me._

He had to admit, though, there were actually a significant amount of people at this party. Not a lot of people came to Dusk 2 Dawn at all, with those little ghost rumors and stories going about, even if they were nothing but lies cooked up to get everyone to stay away. The fact that so many of these students had decided to show up was surprising enough on its own. He was sure that Pyronica was practically jumping up and down with glee by now, her impossibly pink hair bouncing up and down as she did so.

In a second, he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a soft voice in his ear. “William!”

Bill sighed in relief. “Pyronica.”

Pyronica moved around so that she was in front of instead. A giggle passed through her full, pink lips, her eyes bright with life. She threw out her arms and pulled him into a huge hug. “ _William!_ You're finally here!” She pulled away after a few seconds and looked him up and down, smiling widely. “Fashionably late. As per norm.”

“Bad habit of mine," the male chuckled.

The pink-haired girl only laughed at this, gesturing widely to the crowd of people that they were currently standing in. “Seriously, though, William. Are you _seeing_ any of this? This place can barely contain the amount of human beings in here! Wow! When 8 Ball comes back in from his punishment, I'm more than certain he'll want to crank this bitch up to it's max.” Then she clicked her tongue. “By the way, there's no talking me out of his punishment. That decision is final.”

“How-”

“Heard you through his mic.” Pyronica pointed to her own earpiece. “How stupid do you think I am? There's no way I'd leave that big loaf of meat out there all by himself with no kind of supervision. That's just bad parenting, babe. He has the attention span of a three-year-old.”

Bill grinned. “Fair enough.”

“Yep.” Pyronica grasped him by his both his shoulders, not seeming to care all of a sudden, and looked past him, as if she were searching for something. Bill was about to ask what when she blurted out, “8 Ball didn't let you in _alone,_ did he?”

“No, of course not.”

The pink-haired girl pulled away and gazed at him with a raised brow. “Where's your date or roommate, then? Are they invisible?”

“No, he's-” Bill stopped short, blanching. He pushed the other away and spun around. None of the people he saw were the one he _wanted_ to see. “He's...he's not even fucking here with me. Wow.”

“You lost him?” Pyronica questioned.

Bill nodded grimly. “We have to find him.” He tugged at his hair with one hand, having feelings of stupidity. “He's only a kid, Py. He can't be left alone. Oh, God. I should've made sure he was with me, but I was so keyed up to find you and I- I fucked everything up, oh my God.”

“Don't worry, William. He has to be here somewhere.” Pyronica shrugged. “This place isn't _too_ big.”

Right as she finished her statement, they were both swept away into a humongous crowd of people.

* * *

 

_Three hundred sixty five, three hundred fifty six..._

_Counting is starting to get really boring._

Dipper wasn't new to dates, so it didn't take him too long to reach the conclusion that he'd been ditched.

Of course, he'd been stood up on dates before in his life- the classic trick “I'll be there in ten minutes,” when what they actually meant was “I'm not going to show up at all and make you look like an idiot at the restaurant.” But never once did he ever have a date just…walk away. Even if Bill technically wasn't his date at all, and he was using Dipper to make himself look good or whatever, it still caused a burning, hurt-y feeling in his chest. He didn't like it.

Not like it mattered. He wasn't a big fan of parties, anyway, including his own birthday parties. For someone such as him, who liked to stay in silent, secluded areas, being in an environment like this was basically the same as exposing a rabbit to a lion's cage. He usually preferred to stay in the way back at parties, where no one would hang around and he could sit alone in peace, and today this area was in the corner of the area of the store where the freezers were, as backed away from the table of food as possible. Occasionally a person would look in his direction, see him, and cast him a dirty look, one that said _Why are you sitting alone at a party? Wuss.,_ but he chose not to care about it after a while.

He looked down and checked his watch for the thousandth time that night. 9:27. Bill had been gone for a little over a hour.

 _Jerk._ Dipper thought, shifting his position so that he sat in a pretzel position, his hands rested on his lap. Lifting his head, he began to count the grains on the ceiling. Again. _But I guess, if I leave now, all you're gonna do is call me a wimp for the entire year. So I have no choice but to stay, huh?_

“Hey.”

Shocked by the sudden voice, he looked down, expecting Bill or maybe so buff frat guy who wanted to pick on him for sitting by himself. But, upon seeing the person, he relaxed a bit. “Hi. Nice to see you, Pacifica.”

Pacifica Northwest smiled. She was wearing a denim jacket over a magenta colored dress that went down to her knees. Her shoes had heels that went up at least two thirds of an inch, and her diamond earrings flashed with the color of the lights. Her bright blonde hair fell down past her shoulders, done to a perfection.

She adjusted the expensive-looking bag, which matched her dress, hanging over one of her shoulders and said,”I thought it was you I saw here all by yourself, but I had to be make sure I wasn't just losing my marbles.” Her blue eyes glistened with delight. “I have to be honest, though, you were the last person I expected to see here. But that's a good thing. Everyone else is either rude or insane.”

“I was forced to come here.” Dipper lied half-heartedly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down, not wanting to meet the girl's eyes. What was he supposed to say to the person that originally told him Bill was a horrible person, after all? _Oh, he asked me to come, and since I somehow thought you're wrong and he actually seemed kinda cool, I accepted. But, you know, maybe you were right after all, because he walked away and left me here alone. No biggie, though._

“Bill?” Pacifica correctly guessed.

The other nodded. “Unfortunately. He wanted to pretend that I was his actual date, then once we came in he ran off saying that he was going to go look for Pyronica. I haven't seem him around since and I'm not going to stress myself out by starting a manhunt for him.” Hey, at least this part was the truth.

Pacifica pressed her glossy lips into a thin line. “He and Pyronica have sex a lot, I've heard.”

Dipper's heart stopped functioning. “And that makes me feel better?”

“I guess not.” Slowly, Pacifica sat down on the ground next to Dipper, keeping her legs together so she wouldn't expose anything under her dress. She pulled her purse off her shoulder and placed it in her lap. Opening it, she dug around for a moment until she found what she seemed to be looking for, and pulled it out. It was an envelope. She handed it to Dipper. “I remember you saying that today is your birthday, so here you go. It's only a cheesy card with one hundred bucks. I didn't know when I'd get the chance to give it to you, so I kinda just kept it in my bag all day.” She frowned. “I couldn't find the time to get an actual gift for you, with all the shoots I've been doing. Sorry."

“Thanks.” Dipper didn't open the envelope, having been told already what was inside, only placing it on the floor between he and his friend. Reluctantly, he began to tug at his pine tree necklace, which he hadn't realized he was still wearing until Pacifica had brought up the topic of presents.

The blonde girl's eyes fell upon it and, being the fashionable magazine star that she was, dropped open her jaw at the sight. “Oh my gosh, that is literally the most _beautiful_ thing I have ever seen.” She leaned in very close, her soft hair tickling Dipper's chin and her strawberry scent filling his nostrils, and grazed her fingers along the charm with much grace. A gasp breached past her lips. “It looks so amazing on you, Dipper. It suits you so well, I-” In the next second she was pulling away and digging through her bag again. “I need a pic of this ASAP. If you don't mind, that is.”

Once the picture was taken she shoved the phone back in its place and resumed drinking in the jewelry with her eyes. “I know the place you got this from. All their stuff is so expensive… Wait.” She quirked one of her perfectly groomed brows at Dipper skeptically. “You _did_ buy this and not steal it, correct? I'm not so sure how I'd feel about you if you were secretly a criminal.”

Dipper shook his head and scooted a few inches away from her, settling for tucking the charm under his shirt, a pink tint dusting his cheeks. “No, no, I didn't steal it.” He could barely hear his own voice. “I-I didn't even get this. It was actually given to me today. Early this morning. You know, as a present. For my birthday.”

“Seriously? That's amazing!” Pacifica moved closer to the other, clearly not taking the hint that he wanted some space. “Whoever paid for this surely has good taste! I mean, it looks so good on you! I love it. They're so nice to be able to spend so much money for you.” If only she knew who she was talking about. “Who even-”

“That would be me.”

Dipper and Pacifica both whipped their heads up simultaneously.

In Dipper's mind, everything suddenly went away. The terrible music that the DJ was playing, the screams of the frat kids as they proceeded to do things their parents would never approve of but weren't around to bear witness to, and the party as a whole. Poof. Gone. All he saw in this moment was a not so happy looking Bill Cipher, his arms crossed over his chest and his honey-colored eyes burning with malice. And, standing behind him with a hand on one of his shoulders, was a girl with painfully bright pink hair that fell to her shoulders, matched with equally bright ice blue eyes that went wide once they landed on Pacifica. Her lips parted, and she tugged a little on Bill as to hold him back some. Dipper assumed that she was Pyronica.

He was so busy staring at the pair, his tongue dry and at a complete loss for words, that he didn't notice Pacifica stand right away, adjusting her bag over her shoulder.

“Northwest.” Bill spat out, his voice sharp and deadly like a machete, bringing Dipper out of his blankness. He moved to make a step towards Pacifica, only to be pulled back by Pyronica, who whispered something inaudible in his ear. He ignored her, his eyes traveling over and meeting Dipper's for a split second. He then returned to shooting a death glare at the magazine star. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Pacifica didn't flinch. “Enjoying a party, Cipher.” Her voice was just as dark. “Maybe I should ask _you_ what _you're_ doing here.”

Dipper scratched his nails fearfully on the ground. He knew something bad was going to happen. Trying to do something out of his nervousness, he grabbed the envelope Pacifica had given him and stuffed it into one of his pockets as best he could without damaging what was inside.

Bill laughed dangerously. “Enjoying a party?” he repeated. “No, it looks to me like you're trying to get all up on _my_ date.”

_Date._

“Please.” Pacifica replied, placing her hand on either one of her hips. “He's my  _friend,_ you egomaniac. And he's also a _person,_ not some item that belongs to you. He can hang out with whoever the heck he wants to hang out with.” She narrowed her eyes, tacking on, with heavy sarcasm, “Oh, wow! Would you look at that! You're not always in control of whoever you meet.”

“I think you're wrong," the blond male retorted, pushing Pyronica away so he could step closer to Pacifica. “I know you didn't know this, because you're a glittery bitch who only cares about herself, but everything in _my_ dorm room belongs to _me._ ” He pointed at Dipper. “The kid's _my_ property, and I don't want you around him. So back the fuck off.” He balled his hands into fists. “I'm not afraid to hit a girl. Especially not you.”

“Go ahead, then!” Pacifica shouted, throwing her arms in the air. Several party goers started to quiet down and turn in their direction. “Punch me! Right in the face. Break every single bone in my body. Murder me here, right in this very spot, at this public party, and leave my corpse here to get eaten by maggots. I don't care but, just so you know, I heard prison is a pretty bad place to be in this generation.”

A loud ‘oooh' passed through the people that were beginning to crowd them. First there were ten, soon twenty, and before Dipper could process it there seemed to be hundreds.

He couldn't take it anymore. He slowly began to stand. “I-”

“Save it.” Bill snapped.

He sat back down, heart pounding. “Can I at least have some type of say in th-”

“I told you to _save it._ ”

Dipper backed up until he hit the freezers, his head thudding against the glass painfully. Wordlessly, he brought one hand up to rub at the spot that ached, trying to think of a way to stop his friend and his roommate from their intense bickering. He was certain that things were going to get much worse than physical if someone didn't do something to stop it.

He let his gaze meet Pyronica's. She was staring at the fight, rubbing one arm, but when her eyes finally seemed to focus on Dipper's, a sort of understanding passed between them, and she stepped forward and grabbed onto both of Bill's arms from behind just as he was raising one of his fists, eager for murder, and pinned them behind his back.

“Whoa, William!” she said, pulling him a few steps back, losing her balance a little when he began to curse and struggle. “You're scaring your roommate. He looks like he's about to cry.”

She cast a side glare at the crowd. “Don't just stand there like a bunch of idiots! Someone help me hold him down!”

“Slut!” Bill spat at Pacifica, his entire face contorted with rage. His struggling ceased when someone, a male, decided to jump in and aide Pyronica in holding him back. “You're nothing but a _slut!_ Go rot in hell with the rest of your snooty, rich ass friends! You'll finally be in a place where you belong!”

Dipper cracked then, clapping one hand over his mouth and beginning to cry shamelessly. Though his tears blurred his vision, he could see all eyes on him, and everything became quiet. Even the music stopped playing. His sobbing sounds echoed throughout Dusk 2 Dawn and, for once, he didn't care about how he looked in front of everyone. He didn't _care_ if he sounded like a blubbering baby, or that anyone might possibly be making fun of him. Screwing his eyes shut, he moved his hands to cover his ears.

“Stop it!” he shrieked, tears making his face feel cold. “Everyone, _stop!_ I hate all of you!”

“Dipper…” Pacifica's voice was soft, and he felt a hand place itself on his shoulder, but a growl from Bill made it retreat.

Dipper opened his eyes and looked right at Bill, who was staring at him with something along the lines of shock.

“Please," he said. His voice was low.

Next, he turned to Pyronica and nodded, who released Bill, letting the other kid hold him down still, and walked over to Pacifica, who was ghost white. She placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “Let me take you to the back room. We should talk.” When Pacifica didn't reply, she whipped her head around and glared once again at the crowd of party goers. “Alright, you bozos, the show's over, thanks for attending. Go back to having a good time. It'll be the last chance we have before June, just so you know.”

With that everyone disbanded and resumed their dancing and screaming as if nothing had happened, the DJ blasting the music. The guy who had been holding Bill released him as well and walked away, grumbling swears under his breath. The party went on.

“Don't be an ass. I'll kill you otherwise.” Pyronica warned Bill as she passed by him with Pacifica. Then the two girls were gone, leaving he and Dipper all by themselves.

Dipper opened his mouth to speak.

“I know," his roommate muttered before he could say anything. “I know what you're going to say already. I'm sorry, okay? I wouldn't have been as angry if you were with anyone else.”

 _As_ angry. But Dipper shook thoughts of that wording out of his mind. “That's not what I'm angry about," he said, bringing his knees to his chest and sitting in the feeble position. “I'm angry because you brought me to this shitty party, only to walk away and leave me alone. On my freaking _birthday._ ” Tears welled up in his eyes, and he quickly dabbed them away. “What were you _thinking._ ”

“I thought you were following me.”

“Well I _wasn't._ ”

Bill's fingers twitched. “Apparently.”

The two fell silent. Dipper hugged himself tighter and stared past Bill, at the party, attempting to blink away any liquid that formed in his eyes, threatening to cloud his vision again. It took a few minutes before Bill spoke again.

“I would've found you faster, but Pyronica and I-”

Dipper laughed dryly. “Don't even try to make any excuses right now. We both know you decided to have a few drinks at one point or another. That was _your_ choice, not mine. You ditched me. End of story.”

Bill had a sudden interest in his sneakers. “I'm not drunk," he admitted.

That succeeded in making the younger male feel even worse. “I see. So you're telling me that you _consciously_ almost punched the lights out of a girl because she was sitting and talking with me.” Bill was about to say something, but he cut him off by adding, “Yeah, I get it. You said it before. ‘I wouldn't have been as angry if you were with anyone else.’ I heard you. I know, I know, I know. You hate Pacifica with a burning passion for some reason. That's fantastic. But the next time you two want to kill each other, I'd fare much better if you left me out of it.”

“I forgot about you when some kids offered me and Pyronica drinks.” Bill started, his eyes still on the ground. He lowered his brows, something, Dipper learned, that he did when he was thinking. “She told me to focus, but I didn't listen to her. I said it would only take a minute. Worse came to worse, and I drank more than one can.  But she dragged me off before I could have too much, and I realized my mistake. I felt really terrible about it. So, yeah, I was upset enough as it was, and when I saw you with Pacifica, a part of me snapped. You probably know by now that I have terrible anger issues. In that moment, my hatred for her was all that mattered. I was acting impulsively, and I didn't stop to think about how you would react. When you started to cry, I-”

“You told Pacifica that I belong to you.” Dipper whispered. “You told her that I was your property.”

Bill tugged at his blond curls, seeming frustrated. “I did say that, didn't I?” He took a sharp intake of air, like he was breathing oxygen for the first time. “I'm sorry about that. Like I said, I didn't think.”

“Apparently.” Dipper replied in a mocking tone, resting his chin atop his knees. He didn't know what hurt him more- the fact that his chest felt like someone had dumped two hundred thousand pounds worth of bricks onto it or that Bill was actually sounding _sincere._ Maybe, he thought, those two options might be connected in some form.

His eyes fluttered shut. “But I didn't think, either, I suppose, because my heart told me that you weren't as bad as you like to present yourself. Turns out my heart was wrong. I'm sorry, I truly am, for hoping that I could be your friend.”

There was no response to this revelation on Bill's part at first, but after about three centuries of painful silence, he heard footsteps approach, and soon there was someone sitting next to him on the ground. He couldn't possibly imagine who it was.

“I have no idea what to say to you anymore," he told the other, who still wasn't speaking. “I honestly don't.”

“I remember when you first said that you hate me.” Bill spoke quietly and, right now, it sounded like _he_ was about to cry. Dipper opened his eyes and turned to him as he continued. “To be totally honest, I didn't take you very seriously. I just thought you had a schoolboy crush on me and… Wow, I don't even know. I found it funny, I guess, which is why I continued to bug you, and why I got you that necklace.” He let out a short, sad laugh. “That pushed me back a lot, you know. My finances for the next, what, three months? Pssh. Gone. It'll take me a while to manage to get that back. But yet I purchased that shiny piece of shit anyway. For you. Because I'm stupid.”

Dipper stretched his legs out, laying them flat out on the ground, and reached under his shirt, pulling out the necklace charm. He stared at it a minute, solely appreciating its beauty. He ran his thumb over the pine tree design and smiled it before dropping it, allowing it to hang visibly over his shirt.

He leaned his head back against one of the freezers. “We're both stupid.”

“Everything is stupid.” Bill commented, causing Dipper to crack a smile. “No, I'm being serious, hear me out for a minute.” The other nodded, and he sat up straight, clearing his throat before he began his monolouge. “It's something you really have to think about in order to get, but its true. Everything's so stupid and pointless. Like, none of anything about our lives and what we do everyday has any kind of meaning, at least, not a good one that we can truly find, anyway, considering that it all leads to the inevitability of our deaths. Therefore, it's all stupid, with my lack of being able to find a better vocabulary word. And I mean _all_ of it. Our hopes, our dreams, our jobs, our college degrees-” This last one earned him a giggle from his roommate. “-Even what we feel. Happiness, anger, fear, courage, success…” He tilted his head upwards, on a roll at this point. “Um, let's see. Depression, anxiety-”

“Love.” Dipper chimed in, attempting to bring the blond's rant onto a less negative note. After all, the both of them had already had enough negativity for one night. He hesitated. “That's stupid, too, right?”

Bill nodded, a grin meeting his features. “Yeah, yeah, that works. Love is stupid, too. People keep trying to tell themselves that it lasts forever, but both people in the relationship have to die eventually. Rest in peace, you _and_ your love.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure, you should try telling my _sister_ that. She'd kill you right on the spot.” He sprouted into a laughing fit, wheezing a little and holding his sides when they started to ache. In this, he hadn't been sure of when, he had moved his head to rest on the older male's shoulder, relaxing at the comfortable amount of heat radiating off of the other. “She always goes on and on about things like, ‘Bro, you'll totally be able to find that missing piece of yourself.’ and ‘You’ll be able to find love one day.’ It's that kind of thing that makes her herself and I'm one thousand percent okay with it.”

“Having siblings must be nice, especially if you don't have friends, like I didn't for most of my childhood. At least you have her through thick and thin, no matter what happens.”

“Stupid.” Dipper replied, finally catching a whiff of the other's alcohol and simply choosing to disregard it. “I love Mabel a ton. She's literally my best friend. Sure, she and I argue a whole lot, but we always wind up getting over it in an hour or so.” He frowned. “She was extremely upset when we found out we wouldn't be going to the same college together, and I almost didn't want to go. We were never apart before now, so it's odd. She's always had my back, always been there with me. It's weird.”

“That must suck.” Bill draped an arm around the younger male's shoulders awkwardly, pulling him closer ever so slightly. “I know what it can feel like to be apart from someone super close to you. I'm aware of how childish this might sound, but my mom was my best friend before she died. The time she spent in the hospital the weeks before she passed away was horrible. I felt so lonely and, now that she's gone for good, I guess that means I'm lonely for the rest of my life.” He sighed sadly and cast a glance down at Dipper, who was beginning to grow upset again at the sad turn in the conversation. Noting this, he tilted the brunet's chin upwards with his thumb and index finger so that they could face each other. “Sorry, I have a tendancy to make things depressing when I talk about myself. Bad habit of mine.” When Dipper didn't offer any sort of reaction or response, he tightened his grip, but not enough to cause any discomfort. “Hey, it's okay.”

Dipper stiffened when Bill's lips pressed onto his cheek. They were warm and soft, not to forget tinged with alcohol. The younger of the two took a bit to relax at the sweet sensation, his eyes slipping shut as he accepted and embraced the contact, leaning into it in such a way, not too much, so that he didn't seem too desperate. This was something he needed.

He found it hardly credible that all of this happened in a span of about three seconds, but it did, because Bill was pulling away way too soon for his liking.

His eyes didn't open right away.

“You feeling alright?” the blond asked.

Dipper didn't hesitate. He nodded. “I think… I think I want to leave this party. I want to get as much rest as I possibly can, with tomorrow being the first day of classes and all.”

Bill pouted. “And here I was, about to ask you for a dance. But you have a point.” He got to his feet and helped Dipper up as well. He then offered his arm to the other. “Shall we?”

Dipper smiled and looped his own arm into Bill's, entwining them. “We shall.”


	11. Love is Conscientious

Next morning, Dipper awoke with the familiar painful pounding and roaring of blood in his ears and his skull feeling like it was able to crack as easily as an eggshell. He could practically still _hear_ the party, with the deafeningly loud music and constant annoying chants from drunken frat kids. He could also hear Bill's angered yells and Pacifica's sardonic replies, much to his discomfort, causing him to hate his brain.

Groaning, he kicked his sheets as far away from himself as possible and curled up into a fragile ball, some part of him wanting to simply shrivel up and die right there. But no. He had to wake up and...and, well, he had something to do today, he was sure.

He let out a shallow breath, his entire body shaking from a sudden chill, but after a moment he allowed his muscles to relax. Cautiously, he ran his fingertips over his arms, greeted with the rough feeling of goosebumps lining his skin. It felt like he had a lot.

A frown tugged on his lips. Five more minutes of rest. _That isn't too bad._ He told himself, eyes sliding shut.

A second later, he was yanked back into reality by rough shaking and a cruel voice speaking- no, screaming- right in his ear. His eyes flew open as he unconsciously kicked in the direction of all the sudden ruckus, which he didn't come to realize was his roommate until his own foot had hit it's target. And, unfortunately, it was spot on.

Bill groaned and recoiled, hands covering his entire face except for his eyes. He let out a short chuckle, and when he spoke, his voice sounded funny. “Whoa, kid! What did I ever do to you?” He stopped to think. “Well, this time.”

Dipper lowered his leg and sat up, mocha eyes wide. It took some time before the reality of the situation caught up with him. “Oh. Oh my God. I'm so sorry, are you-” He began to reach out with one hand, but the other flashed him a warning look, and he instead let his arm fall back down onto the mattress. “I didn't mean to. You… You just startled me. I acted on instinct.”

He was expecting some kind of insult or sarcastic reply in return, and only got caught slightly off guard when Bill only shrugged. “S'alright. Understandable. For all you know, I could've been an axe murderer.” He chuckled again and removed his hands from his face.

“Y-Your nose!” Dipper exclaimed, pointing.

“It's fine.” The older male's tongue darted out between his lips and dabbed at some of the coppery blood that was dripping out from his now-purple nose in fine, thin strands. Dipper gagged, turning away, which only earned him a snicker. “What? Come on! It's _blood._ It can't kill you. Though, without it you would die. Can't really find a way to explain the psychology in that.”

Dipper shook his head, still not looking at the other. “I don't care about psychology, okay? But, please, for the sake of being a normal human being, can you go to the bathroom and wipe away the blood with a tissue or something? Licking it up is only welcoming the germs from your snot into your body.” Vomit filled his throat at the thought of, “You're literally eating your own snot.”

There was a sniff, and he dared to turn, right in time to see the other wipe away the blood with his sleeve. He blanched. “That is completely unsanitary. But, uh-” He ran a hand through his hair. “Tilt your head up. That helps stop the bleeding.”

Bill rolled his eyes but did as he was told. Tilting his head upwards ever so slightly, he sniffed again, this time sounding much more slimy and congested.

“Yeah, don't force it up, either."

“I get it, Ma. Thanks.”

Dipper felt insulted. “I'm just trying to help you. There's no need to get all sassy about it.”

“And so was I. Neither one of us can see to get our point across today, huh?”

“Wait, help _me?_ How?”

Bill didn't lower his head, so he wasn't looking at the other when he replied. “Your God damn alarm clock woke me up. I walked over to shut it off and, since I was being nice, decided to wake _you_ up, because for some miraculous reason you were still sleeping. I don't really know how, that thing can wake up demons in hell.”

Dipper whipped his head around to look at the alarm clock, which was resting in its usual place, on the dresser. A certain someone had unplugged it from the wall, so there wasn't a time displayed on its screen.

“So it's 7:30?” he asked, remembering when he'd set the alarm to go off. He looked down at his wristwatch only after he'd asked that, feeling stupid.

“Few minutes after that, seeing that you kicked me in the face and we're engaged in a conversation.”

“I said I was sorry about that.” Dipper pointed out, looking back at him. He was right. It was 7:35 now.

Bill frowned, but that was because of having his head up for so long. “And I told you that it was _fine._ Seriously. No big deal. I'm still alive, I think. I'm pretty sure.” His voice trailed off, a sign that he was thinking. “But, for all I know, I could actually be dead right now, and this conversation could all be a sick dream of some kind.”

“How would you be able to tell?”

The older of the two shrugged. “I can't. That's what makes it fun.” He lowered his head at last and smirked at his roommate. “Or, maybe, I'm not even talking to you. You could possibly not exist. You could be a figment of my imagination… Or maybe I could be a figment of your's.” He tapped his chin in thought. “Have you ever done this, Pine Tree? Have you ever taken a moment to think about your life in such a way that you came to question your own existence? I mean, really evaluate things. Who knows, _all_ of our lives could just be movies played for the entertainment of higher beings. Or something. The possibilities are kinda endless.”

Dipper rubbed at his aching temples. He was getting brain pain simply from the context of this topic. “I can't quite say that I have. I've seen my life as my life, and that's about it. I do the things I do and it leads to certain consequences, whether they be positive or negative. I know everything that happens is out of our control, but it's an odd thought. Philosophy isn't my thing, honestly. In my opinion, it seems too needlessly complicated.” A thought occurred to him. “Say, is that what you're getting your degree in? Philosophy?”

“Oh, God, no! Why would I spend the rest of my life talking about things that no one is going to listen to?” Bill's cocky look faltered, but barely enough to be noticed to a certain degree. “I'm getting my Bachelor's degree in Fine Arts and hightailing it out of this place.”

“You? An artist?” Dipper couldn't help but find the idea laughable.

The blond crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, smart guy. What are _you_ getting your degree in?”

“Creative writing.”

“You? A writer?” Bill mocked.

Dipper couldn't help but smile. “I have to admit, you got me there.” Then reality caught up to him, and he shuffled out of bed and pushed past the other male, rushing towards the bathroom. “What am I doing? I have to get ready! I can't be late on my first day!”

“Why? What time is your first class?”

“Uh, 9:00, but it's going to take time to get ready and walk down to the college, so I figured that I should get up at 7:30.” The brunet had stopped at the bathroom door, his hand on the knob. “You know, the more time you have, the better.”

Bill's eyes were half lidded. “So you're paranoid.”

“Your nose is still bleeding.” The bathroom door slammed angrily.

* * *

 

Of course, Dipper knew how long a mile was: 5280 feet, or more infamously known as 63,360 inches. No matter how much people complained about it was, and the fact that they were both relatively large numbers, it felt much smaller in real life, as the brunet realized he could power walk to the college in about nine minutes, maybe six or seven if he was actually worried enough to make it on time that he'd force himself to start running. Though he knew he would never run a mile again, no matter what, even if his life depended on it (which was a way of saying that he learned his lesson after all that horribly agonizing fitness texting in high school).

He held his schedule and did a quick, last minute reading of it as he walked, despite having already memorized it ages ago. _Better to be safe than sorry._ He thought, raising his arm a little so he could check his wristwatch. Only 8:32. That was good. He could stop by the cafeteria and get a quick bite to eat before heading to the physics lab, where his first class was held. It wasn't such a bad idea, especially considering that all he'd eaten prior to leaving the dorms was a stale tasting strawberry pop tart Bill had given him. Admittedly, taking food from Bill in the first place wasn't the wisest decision he had ever made in his life.

Brushing this aside, Dipper lowered his arm and settled for picking up the speed, transitioning himself from a hurried walk to a light jog. He was within the college's gates now, the steps that lead into the building only a few yards away.

One thing he took notice of was the assortment of people that were already here. Most were sitting down in the grass and testing on their phones, others were just sitting in general, and there was even one guy who played his guitar, the instrument seated in his lap, crowded by five or six spectators. Dipper guessed that they were all waiting for their classes to start.

However, with the amount of people out here, he wondered how crowded the cafeteria would turn out to be. He didn't want to wind up being late for class on his first day because he'd been waiting in a long line- if there was one single thing that everyone he knew had been drilling into his head since he was a kid, and especially when he was in high school, it was that college professors didn't give a rat's ass on whether or not you were late to class, or why; all you had to do was show up on time and everything went swell.

Pushing his way past the large front doors, he was officially inside of the building. He stopped for a moment and placed the hand that was holding his schedule over his racing heart, adjusting the one-strap bag he had slung over his right shoulder simultaneously. The books inside were as heavy as bricks. But, like, expensive bricks, because the cheapest one he had cost seventy bucks. And, well, the most expensive one was an entirely different story.

After taking a few million years to catch his breath, he resumed walking again, this time at the pace a normal person would take. He looked sideways at a map of the college creatively painted in the wall as he passed by, snapping a mental of image of where he was, where the cafeteria was, and the shortest route from that location to the physics room in a matter of a split second, thanks to his very handy photographic memory.

A lethal mixture of thrill and fear shot up his spine as he walked down a large corridor, empty apart from a few students and professors alike that were standing around. Some of the rooms he walked by were empty, with the lights off and an eerie silence emitting from inside, but the rooms that were being used were already engaged in lectures, the professors standing in front of their boards and, well...lecturing, whilst the young adults that were their students sat in their seats and listened not so intently. Most of them looked like they were going to die from boredom or just seemed blank completely.

Dipper wondered how Bill would act in a college classroom environment, then couldn't help but laugh at himself mentally, for the answer to that could be guessed quite easily.

 _No. Wait._ He wiped any thoughts of his roommate away. _No. I will_ not _be thinking about him here. I'm supposed to be focusing on what's really important, the reason why I'm in this town in the first place. Just...think about something else._ The sound of pencil scratching lightly on paper, quizzes and tests returned with A+ written on the top of the page near the space where the name is supposed to be. _...Yeah. Good vibes, good vibes._

He squeezed his schedule tightly in his grasp, crumpling the paper, and continued to press forward with only the thoughts of college filing through his brain. Right here, right now was _not_ the place to be having flashbacks of Pyronica and 8 Ball's party, or the horrible way Bill and Pacifica fought with one another, or the way Bill kissed his cheek right before they went back to their dorm room.

“Shit," he told himself, under his breath so no one would be able to hear him, in the same instant that he turned a corner and headed into the cafeteria, not having to push open the doors due to one already being propped open with a plastic chair.

Not to his surprise, the actual view of the cafeteria made the pictures on the college's brochure look like sad jokes. This place was _huge-_ and even that was a complete understatement- as it was expected to be, with a ton of space to give enough room for all the food to pick from and the tables for everyone to sit at.

To make it better, it was set up as more of a buffet, all the foods lying out on the counters and such all over the place, waiting to simply be grabbed and thrown onto a tray (the trays being plastic, of course. Those rested in neat piles on the sides of each space for food, meant to be taken and dumped into bins for workers to clean and place out again), though he knew there had to be lines to get the more popular foods, an example of one of _those_ being the brownies. Dipper had never tried this school’s brownies before, for obvious reasons, but with how they looked on the brochure, he was honestly tempted to charge for them...if it wasn't for them not being served during breakfast hours, that is.

There were not only tables for staff and students to sit at, but booths as well, ones that could be seen at restaurants. They were all a bright orange color, the cushiony seats looking so, so inviting. Lots were here already, eating and talking or sitting back and waiting for their friends to finish picking out what to eat. Those in the booths seemed generally more comfortable and lax, something that Dipper was going to have to remind himself of whenever he came here. Which was going to be every day from now until the end of his freshman year.

What especially made the cafeteria visually appealing was the murals painted all over the walls and even the windows. Each of them were done by different seemingly talented artists, signed with signatures of some sort on the bottom. Some went from something as simple as _GO WOODPECKERS_ with the kind of shameful school representative animal flying directly above it to something as huge and time consuming to make as a painting of a bunch of college grads throwing their hats into the air, the classic woodpecker flying somewhere nearby. And with this particularly beautiful, amazing one in specific, that took up an entire section of the wall, what Dipper didn't come to notice until much later were the signatures of the painters at a bottom corner and, lower on the list of these names, in cruel, familiar handwriting, was the name William Cipher.

Dipper walked past each mural in turn, casting quick looks at each, easily identifying the types of brush strokes and styles used despite him not being much of an artsy person. High school classes had been relatively enjoyable and swift-paced, true, but going into art professionally didn't feel like the best way for him to conduct the rest of his life, seeing as he was better at abstract art that made no sense to others rather than any kind of masterpieces, realistic _or_ cartoonish- another way of saying that he was never able to draw for his life.

He checked his watch again, this time in a frantic manner. 8:39. He still had some time to eat before heading to physics and officially starting his school year, as long as he didn't get anything too big and wasn't a complete slowpoke about eating. With quick thinking he settled on simply getting a coffee and maybe a waffle or two.

Fortunately for him, there wasn't a line for the coffee machine, which was surprising, to say the least. But he wasn't planning on complaining or questioning the matter anytime soon.

Shoving his schedule in his pocket and grabbing one of the hundreds of white foam cups sitting out, he placed it under the nozzle of the machine and input how he wanted his coffee and the size of his cup with a few simple button pushes. Then he pressed one final button, the ‘go' one that was large and green and above the nozzle, and waited impatiently, tapping a foot as the coffee poured out of the machine and into his cup, the machine itself whirring. Once it was finished he took out the cup, which felt searing to the touch, heating his fingers, and put a plastic lid over it, come complete with inserting a thin red straw.

Next he charged for the waffle iron set up on a counter towards the center of the cafeteria. To his delight, there were different bowls with different types of waffle mix, previously mixed with their other ingredients so someone could pick what kind they wanted, pour it into the iron, and go. His good mood at the sweet thought of blueberry waffles, though, died down as he caught sight of and recognized the girl who was already at the iron, waiting for her own waffles to be done. She hummed and tapped her bright yellow-painted nails against the surface of the counter.

“Pyronica?” Dipper merely squeaked, making her turn abruptly in his direction, her icy eyes wide.

She was wearing a cheerleading outfit that bore the school's three spirit colors- brown, yellow, and orange- with the skirt of it dangerously short, resulting in mass exposure of her hairless legs. A hairpin of a woodpecker was inserted in her long, impossibly bright hair, which was tied neatly into a French braid that fell an inch or two past her shoulders. She didn't have any pompoms with her, at least that Dipper couldn't see, which didn't quite match how the stereotypical cheerleader functioned.

“Fish?” she asked, and narrowed her eyes, as if she were trying to size him up. After a moment her eyes lit up with realization. “Fish!” she exclaimed, and took a step towards him, only to be cut off by a loud beeping sound from the iron. Holding up an index finger, she mouthed _one second_ and turned back around so she could carefully remove her finished chocolate waffle and throw it onto a tray. She continued to speak whilst popping open the cap of a syrup bottle and squeezing a heart attack worthy amount of the sticky substance all over her food. “What kind do you want?” she asked.

Dipper flinched. “Huh?”

Pyronica slammed the syrup bottle onto the counter and gestured to the bowls full of mix. “What kind you you want?” she repeated, persistently.

“Oh, uh, I like blueberry, usually, but I can make my own-”

“It's fine," the girl replied, grabbing the bowl of blueberry waffle mix and dumping some of it into the iron. For a moment she sounded almost exactly like Bill, but that fantasy faded when she shut the top and turned again, smiling at the brunet boy. “Takes a minute and a half.” Her smile broadened and she added, “How are we today, by the way? You got a full night of rest, I hope?” Dipper nodded hesitantly. “I'm glad at least _someone_ did. 8 Ball and I were up all night cleaning the hell out of Dusk 2 Dawn and I'm just about ready to pass out. Being captain of the cheer team means lots of distractions from your secret double life, I guess.” It didn't take a lot to figure out what the heck that was supposed to mean.

Dipper began to play with the collar of his blue shirt, feeling uncomfortable in the presence of someone who was basically the best female friend of his roommate, and who also apparently happened to have a sexual history with said roommate. _Get out of there!_ his brain screamed. His body didn't obey this command, staying firmly in place. “I'm...I'm fine. I slept great, thanks. For asking. It, uh, it sounds like the party was a blast. Congrats.”

“Aha...but no. You were there. You should know that party was absolute crap.” The pink-haired girl laughed and tilted her head to one side, staring at Dipper curiously. “Especially after the part when everything went to shit.”

The waffle iron beeped.

Pyronica removed the finished blueberry waffle from it and plopped it onto a tray. She raised the syrup with a cocked brow and, when the other shook his head, shrugged and placed it back down, taking the tray and handing it to him syrup-free. When he had put his coffee on it as well, she grabbed her own tray and nudged him roughly with her shoulder. “Come on, let's go find a place to sit. How much time do you have until your first class? If you haven't already started, that is.” She cracked a smirk. “But I doubt you're the kind of guy that would skip. You seem to be very serious about your education, which is a good thing.”

“Mine starts at 9:00.”

“Do you know when the asshole's starts?”

 _The asshole. That's a good one._ He said, "10:15.”

The cheer captain nodded. “Right, right. I should've figured. His classes always start late.”

Dipper followed her closely, ignoring the glances they received and staring down at his feet as he trudged along. The wondrous aroma of waffles and coffee filled his nose. And, at the mention of noses, he suppressed a shudder at reminding himself of Bill's bleeding nostrils. _Don't ruin your own appetite, damn it._ “That's good for him," he said softly. “He was complaining when my alarm woke up at 7:30 and woke him up, and that isn't even that early.”

“I like your necklace a lot.” Pyronica blurted out suddenly. And, when the other gave her an odd look, frowned and picked up, “Wow, I'm sorry. That came out of nowhere. It's...it's a really nice necklace, I meant to say. Looks like it costs a lot of money, lots of money I don't have to spare.”

The brunet sighed. “I see what you're trying to do, and it isn't working. Bill was the one who got this for me. So technically he's still the topic of the conversation. He gave this to me yesterday morning as a birthday present.”

Pyronica's eyes widened. “Yesterday was your _birthday?_ ” She sucked her teeth, blinking rapidly. “Good God, what happened last night must have _sucked_ for you, in that case. Dealing with assholes doing asshole things on a day as important as that really kills the ‘good times because I'm older and possibly wiser now' vibes.” Then she forced a smile and nudged him again. “But let's try not to think too much about that right now. Honestly, the thing that surprises me the most is how William would bother to spend so much money on a nice thing for you. Even when it comes to _my_ birthday, he gets me a card with a ‘Yay! You're closer to dying, you bat!’ message, and plays a creepily happy tune when you open it.”

“Seriously?”

A giggle. “No. I'm joshing. He's not that transparent. If I actually _did_ get something like that, though, I'd probably be pretty chill with it. Things that are ironic are super adorable, but that's just my opinion.”

 _You're weird,_ Dipper thought, butting down on his bottom lip to prevent himself from saying this out loud. He remained silent until Pyronica found a booth for the both of them to sit at and slid into one of the cushiony seats. He sat down across from her and absently began to poke at his waffle, beginning to have second thoughts on refusing that syrup. Out of habit, he checked his watch for the umpteenth time, which read 8:43. It felt like he'd been talking go Pyronica for  _h_ _ours,_ however, he mused, with a slight frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

Although, talking to her was so much easier than talking to Bill. Unlike him, she gave off a positive and bubbly sort of aura, like that of a mom, and seemed to consider her words before she spoke them, trying to prevent herself from saying the wrong thing. She also seemed to be the kind of person to try her best to keep everyone in the conversation happy, while also being open and honest with them, though she spoke matter-of-factly as well, which was a good thing to do. The sound of her voice was soft and angelic, and it soothed the soul, rather than Bill's scratching nails on a chalkboard, deep and demanding tone that could inflict fear into others. The only thing the two had in common was the way their eyes twinkled, a pure indicator of when they were in a good mood, a trait Dipper was used to seeing from growing up with Mabel, who was always in a good mood.

Pyronica began tearing into her chocolate waffle with a plastic fork and knife. Occasionally her ice blue eyes would drift up and she would glance at the other, which Dipper noticed, but decided not to point out. They both sat in silence until Pyronica shoved a piece of waffle into her mouth and asked, “Are you doing alright?” Due to her chewing as she talked, her words were muffled and the tiniest bits of debris would fly through her lips. It was completely repulsive, and so not a thing that a cheer captain would do. She swallowed before continuing to speak. “The stuff that happened last night was crazy, I know. I'm not proud out either one of them, if you ask me.”

Dipper leaned his face into one hand, not bothering to eat any of his food. He wasn't hungry anymore. Not sure of what he was supposed to say, he muttered the dumb excuse he used against Bill. “I was just talking to Pacifica.”

“That's what the problem was.” Pyronica's expression remained terrifyingly neutral as she grabbed a napkin from the dispenser of the table, near the wall, using it to wipe the crumbs off her lips gracefully. She threw it down into her tray and began to cut herself another piece of waffle. “I think you should know that by now.” She said calmly, which was true. Dipper _did_ know. “The damn chick brings out the worst in him, I swear. William doesn't usually start fights at parties unless he's so drunk that he comes close to passing out.”

“So he was angry because Pacifica was talking to me, not because I was talking to Pacifica?” _If that has any kind of logic in it at all,_ the brunet added in his thoughts.

“Eh. Yes and no.”

Dipper was mystified. “Explain?”

“William gets jealous easily," the pink-haired girl replied immediately, talking in the new piece of waffle. Then she swallowed, grabbing the cup of orange juice off her tray (how had Dipper not noticed it until now?) and took a sip of it, downing a third of the drink in one monstrous guzzle.

“I-”

“Keep hold of your panties, kid.” She placed the cup onto her tray and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn't get to eat at all last night because of 8 Ball, so I'm eating now. There's still plenty of time until 9:00, and I can still use my mouth and talk, so try to have patience with me.”

Nodding, Dipper brought the straw of his coffee into his mouth and took a small sip of the heated liquid, pulling away only due to the burning sensation on his tongue. He folded his hands together and leaned forward on the table, letting her take her time, but not completely wiping away the seed of anxiety and impatience planted deep in his chest. Forget everything he had thought before. She was almost as difficult as Bill was.

“Alright, so…” Pyronica cracked her knuckles after what felt like hours, but was only about a minute in real time, and leaned back casually in her seat. “Would it be rude of me to ask how close you and William are? I mean, don't take it the wrong way if I'm wrong about something, but even when it comes to someone he hates as much as he does Northwest, he doesn't get as pissed as he did last night. It scared me a bit, if it's honesty hour.”

“Acquaintances.” Dipper replied in a bitter tone, much too bitter for his own liking. He tasted something foul deep in his throat, though technically it wasn't physically possible to taste things in such a place. “He's told me five thousand times before that we're only acquaintances, so obviously I'm not the problem here.” Pyronica raised her brows. “I'm serious! He doesn't like me! Are you _sure_ he wasn't at all drunk? At least tipsy? Some other term that has to do with what happens to people when they drink alcohol? Anything?” He slouched down in his seat, starting to become stressed solely from the amusement radiating off of Pyronica. “Why do you keep looking at me like I'm lying? I promise you, I'm talking the truth.”

Pyronica smiled. “How was William this morning, before you left the dorm room?” she asked calmly. Despite her smile, her face remained virtually unreadable.

“Fine, I guess. He was laughing when I kicked him in the face.”

“You _what?_ ”

“Best not to ask.”

“Never mind. I don't care.” Tapping one of her perfectly painted nails on her chin, Pyronica pressed on with her questioning. “Acquaintances, huh. Seems unlikely. Unless my knowledge of words is suddenly beginning to fail me, I'd believe that ‘acquaintances’ don't particularly spend a shit ton of money buying necklaces and other nice things for each other. Seems to me like more of a ‘married couple' kind of thing.” A smirk formed on her lips. “Do you two argue a lot?”

Dipper blushed. “What?”

“Right. Of course you do. That's also a married couple kind of thing, mind you. It's funny because me and William were _exactly_ like you two are now back when we were having our awkward ‘Are we dating?’ phase.” Pyronica's confident look didn't fade when the other began to protest, and she held up a hand, basically saying _This is my hand. Please share your bullshit with it._ She nodded, satisfied. “But, no, that's enough for today. I got the information that I needed. It's about time you got going and headed for classes. I didn't want to waste too much of your time.”

“I don't get it. How was any of this supposed to make me feel better? If anything, all this did was make me feel worse about what happened last night.”

Pyronica chuckled at his frustration. “If you have a problem with William, sort it out with William. I've tried to help you enough without giving away what you should already know. Whether you like it or not, you _were_ a factor of why he got so angry, and you also already are aware of what that factor is, yes?” Not waiting for a reply, she grabbed Dipper's tray, minus his coffee, which he took last second, and dumped his uneaten waffle onto her half-eaten one before piling his tray under her's. Holding them, she slid out of her seat and stood, nodding at the other as a sign that he should do the same.

The freshman furrowed his brows. “Maybe things would be more clear to me if you explained why Bill and Pacifica hate each other in the first place.”

Pyronica shook her head sadly. “I'm afraid I can't do that. Their story isn't mine to tell and, even if it was-” She grabbed hold of Dipper's wrist with one hand, the other still carefully balancing the trays. “-it's 8:52. You _really_ need to get to your first class.” She released her hold and shrugged. “Sorry, but it's quite a tale. When you have the time and courage, you should totally talk to one of them about it. They'll be hesitant at first, I'm sure, but they'll spill the beans if it's for you.”

Then she did something completely unexpected. Putting the trays on the table, she grasped Dipper's baby soft face in her pale, delicate hands, and leaned in close. Closer. Closest…

Before Dipper could protest, much less even process what was happening, the cheerleader was pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. And, unlike Bill's lips, which he had felt twice prior to this moment, Pyronica's were soft and smooth, and this close in proximity she had a lovely scent, rather than the tang of alcohol or the stench of cigarettes. It was nice.

She lingered for quite a while before finally pulling away. Giggling, she wiped any lipstick that had been smudged onto the male's face, her fingers brushing his lips, sending shivers down his spine.

“Stay conscious," she said. “Be careful with how you approach William. He may seem like the king of jerks, but he's trying his damn hardest to be a good person.” Moving her hands to squeeze Dipper's cheeks, she added, “One last thing and I'll let you go, Red Face. It's only a small favor.” Something in her expression shifted then, but only for a millisecond. “The next time you see William in an exceptionally bad mood, like last night, for example, I want you to give him that kiss for me. He's needed it for a while. Also, tell him to stop worrying about the future, and that everything's going to turn out alright for him in the end.”

The last part of her request came out as a whisper. “Lastly, I want you to remind him of the promise he made to his mom.”


	12. Love is Grievous

For the first time in his life, Dipper Pines wasn't one hundred percent focused on his classes.

Of course, it didn't have any kind of huge effect on anything, considering it was only the first weeks of the school year, but yet it felt odd to him, to not be listening. Never before had his body just flat out chosen to completely disregard what the educator was saying or doing. Every word coming out of all of his professors' mouths went into one ear and floated right out the other, causing them to sound all distant, like someone's voice over a CB radio, but in an area with really bad signal. “This isn't high school anymore, kiddos… your worst nightmares, realized… stay on task… you can't pass if you don't come to class- hey, that rhymes!- but I'm not stopping you if you want to waste your money and  _not_ come…” and more things parallel to that, which was repeated in every single one of his classes. Then right after they would start work for the year right away, with the few upperclassmen mocking everything the professor was saying and making projectile objects out of anything they could lay their hands upon.

From what he did notice, though, the classes didn't seem like they would be too difficult, as long as he didn't spend his time being an idiot and partying all the time instead of studying, which was something he was perfectly capable of doing. The only possible obstacle he saw were presentations- he never really was one for speaking in front of other people, and that was thanks to his very, very mild (or not so mild) stage fright. He didn't at all enjoy the idea of so many eyes on his at once, the creepy silence, or the harsh grading based off of factors like the volume of his voice. Dipper was silent, which he made up for by talking quite wildly with his hands, a guarantee that this area was his one and only weakness. But this problem _was_ going to have to be dealt with sooner than later, he admitted, sadly, knowing very well that presentations were a huge factor in college.

Besides these misfortunes, the week went relatively well, and passed by at a moderately swift speed. What felt like a mere blink after his breakfast with Pyronica at the cafeteria, he was exiting his final, tiring class of the day on Friday, world geography. The major problem he saw with this class in particular was the professor himself, who preferred for the students to call him by his first name, Ivan. Based upon all the constant glares and warning whispers of “Dipper Pines,” that the brunet received from the man when he was caught staring off into space, he had a hunch that they weren't going to turn out being the best of friends.

Dipper groaned and once again readjusted the bag on his shoulder into a moderately less insufferable position. The books inside were beginning to feel like nothing more than dead weight, his shoulder ached incredibly, and he was more than certain that any more of this was going to put some type of strain on it.

 _Oh, well. I guess I have to suck it up,_ he mused, trying to push past a few kids who were walking like snails. _Look at the bright side. One week down. Only thirty-five more to go._

Another groan rumbled in his throat. _Maybe college isn't going to be as much of a walk in the park as I figured as it would be…_

“Outta my waaay!”

Dipper whirled around in the direction of the sudden shouting, any further complaints about the pain in his shoulder washing out of his mind. All he saw were the other students walking through the corridor in a ton of different directions, however, causing traffic in some areas more than others. In fact, even as he was standing here staring off at nothing in particular like an idiot, people were pushing him around harshly and grumbling curses as they walked by. _So it's probably best to keep moving._ He thought, and took a deep breath. He made a motion to turn around.

“ _Outta my waaaaay!_ ” came the shout again, and this time Dipper recognized the voice as female. But he never really got the chance to react to it, because a split second later another person was crashing into him, causing the both of them to crash ungraciously onto the ground.

The back of his head hit the floor - hard - and for a moment he was too dizzy from the sudden transition from feet to floor that he couldn't see anything at all. He could only process a few people laughing rudely at the exchange and even a few kicks in areas that he shouldn't be kicked. And, of course, there was the weight of the person who'd tackled him to the ground.

It took some time for his head to clear. Opening his eyes, slowly and carefully, he found himself nose to nose, quite literally, with one of the most attractive girls he'd ever seen.

She was absolutely _beautiful,_ with huge, sparkling green eyes and long red hair that looked as if it fell past her shoulders (hard to tell, because most of it was tickling his face). She also had a small, cute nose, and her cheeks were sprinkled with just the right amount of freckles. Her skin was pale, but not incredibly, the perfect shade to complement her.

Dipper caught a breath, having no idea what to say. Instead of speaking, he gulped, the action causing his nose to brush ever so gently against the girl's. And when he finally _did_ gather enough guts to talk, all he said was, in a terribly soft voice, “H-Hi there.” Then, right after those words left his lips, he mentally slapped himself for such a poor choice of speech.

The redheaded girl laughed at this and pushed herself up some by placing her hands onto his chest. “Sorry, man," she said in her angelic voice, a small grin the highlight of her face. Her fingers still lingered after another moment or two, making Dipper hope that she wouldn't be able to feel his heartbeat. “I kinda...I kinda tripped on my own foot, I guess that's what it was. Next thing I knew I went flying, and _BAM._ Here I am.”

“I, uh…” Gulping, Dipper only knew how to nod. “Yeah. I- I guess.” A moment of deafening silence broke between them, with the girl not moving at all, and he added, “Can you get off of me now? Please, I mean.”

“Oops. I zoned out there. Alright.” The redhead pushed herself up again, this time enough to sit upright, no longer on top of Dipper, who sat up after her. Now the corridor was almost completely empty, he noticed, which was odd, because he hasn't noticed the loud chatter subside at all. But it also meant that no one had bothered to stop and help them up, which made him lose a little more faith in humanity.

“Are you okay?” the redhead asked, catching his attention, and he stupidly nodded in response for a second time. “Sorry again. I got carried away. Last class of the day and all, you know. I'm just, like, super ready to get the heck out of here.”

“S-Same.” Dipper breathed, pulling his bag back into position. For the first time that day, the ache in his shoulder didn't matter anymore. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Oh, um, my name is Dipper, by the way. Dipper Pines is my full name, so yeah.”

“Name's Wendy Corduroy," the redhead, now identified as Wendy, smiled. “Nice to meet you, Dip-” She cut herself short, as if something had suddenly come to mind, and her eyes began to examine Dipper up and down slowly, like he were some kind of relic she'd never seen before. This went on for a few minutes before she snapped her fingers and said, “Pines. I know that name. Are you in some way related to the two old guys that run the Mystery Shack, that dumb tourist trap near the woods?”

“That's them. They're my great uncles, Stanley and Stanford. But I'm only in town for college," the brunet explained quickly. “I don't stay with them because they have no room for me to stay _in,_ so the dorms are basically my home for the year.”

“Ah. Makes sense to me.” Wendy was the first to get onto her feet, and Dipper followed her example. She then waved a hand in a casual manner, gesturing for him to follow her, which he did, but not without a second or two of hesitation. They both walked down the now empty corridor making small talk, speaking of things like where their home was, what they were here to get their degrees in, ect. Of course, Wendy referred to herself as Pacifica's roommate, something that Dipper was vaguely aware of Pacifica telling him a few weeks ago.

It wasn't until they had made it through the front doors and greeted by the warm sunlight of the outside world that Wendy brought up something else entirely.

She let out a breath through her perfectly shaped nose before speaking. “I know this might sound, like, incredibly uncomfortable,” she said, “but I actually know them. Your great uncles, I mean. In a professional way. I work at the Shack to get some bucks while I'm here and all, you know how it is.”

Dipper was struggling to breathe like a normal person still, and he pretended to be interested in the trees far off in the distance so that she wouldn't be able to see the blush on his face. He barely managed a, “Working for the Stans must be the worst.” _No offense, you guys._ He tacked on in his thoughts, as if waiting for them to pop out of a bush and call him out for it.

“Mmm, nah. It's only Stanley who's the annoying one, honestly, but even he isn't a  _t_ _otal_ letdown.” Wendy chuckled. Obviously thinking of good times. “Sure, he acts all grouchy and mean and, well, old, but deep down he's a huge softy. I'm pretty sure he secretly wants a hug, or love, or something cheesy like that.”

 _Hmm._ Didn't Pyronica say something along the lines of that before? Something about someone acting like a jerk, but not actually _being_ a huge jerk in the core…? _Oh, wait. Right._ She'd been talking about Bill, Dipper had to remind himself, beginning to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt gently with his fingers, a nervous habit. “Uh-huh. Yep. That's Stan. Definitely.” Something in his body seemed to have stopped functioning, probably his brain, but that wasn't exactly news to him, seeing as his brain had been on the fritz ever since his not-so-helpful conversation with a certain enthusiastic cheer captain.

In fact, it was his talk with Pyronica that had been bothering him all week in the first place. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about his roommate- though, luckily for him, Bill was almost never in their room, even after classes, probably because he had very important parties or something to go to, which was something Dipper wanted to avoid ever since the incident. But even when he was away from the blond, some part of his mind would literally take _anything_ and try to compare it to him.

Right now, it was Wendy's freckles. Bill had freckles, too. And it was making him very uncomfortable.

He swallowed.

“Hello, earth to Dipper?” Fingers snapped suddenly, right in his face, and he swore he must have jumped at least fifty feet into the air. Lightly grazing his nails across the soft skin of one of his cheeks, he stared back at Wendy, who blinked at him with uncertainty. “Are you okay? You look a little pale?”

“F-Fine. Fine.” His voice hit thirty different pitches in harmony, and punched himself on the chest to fix whatever gears seemed to have stopped working inside. He cleared his throat. “I'm fine. I've just been really distracted all week, and I don't know why.” _But you do, you idiot._ “Yeah. I don't know why," he repeated, as if telling the lie again would make it true. He felt like such a terrible person.

Wendy relaxed. “Ah, I see. I think I see your problem.”

“Y-You do?” Dipper squeaked. _How would she know abo-_

“Crystal clear. I went through the same thing when I was a freshman.” Wendy said, and at the last statement, the other allowed himself to lose some tension, knowing that whatever it was the redhead was about to babble on about wouldn't be at all related to his _actual_ problem.

“The first year of college can be rough at times, man," the girl said, and began to count off on her fingers. “New environment, old people who yell at you all the time, being around kids your age who are _way_ more immature than teenagers were in your high school, and, most importantly, having to be away from your family and knowing the rest of your natural life depends on how well you perform in your final four years of school. It can be a lot of weight on your shoulders.” Then she smiled calmly and patted Dipper on the shoulder that was bearing the burden of all his books, like some kind of example. “Don't freak out about it, dude. College goes by as fast as high school, if not fast _er._ Literally, it feels like I started my freshman year yesterday, but here I am now, as a senior. Crazy, huh?”

 _Completely and utterly insane,_ Dipper thought, but hampered himself from saying it out loud, instead forcing a smile to return to her. He said, “Thanks, that helps a lot,” in a tone that was either completely coated in sarcasm or incredibly kind. Who knows, maybe it was a bit of both.

Fortunately for him, Wendy took it as the ‘incredibly kind' option. She slapped him on the back with an unexpected amount of strength, causing him to stumble forward somewhat, and laughed. “Hey, it's no problem. I'm just glad I could he-” She paused, and her eyes became very distant, looking past Dipper instead of at him. Her smile magically vanished, and before Dipper could ask what was wrong, she said, “Oh. Hello, Pyronica.”

Dipper then felt slim fingers latch themselves onto one of his wrists, but not with brute force, enough so that he could have some comfort. The all too familiar smell of mixed perfumes filled his nose, making him feel nauseous, but he was sure that if he passed out Pyronica would catch him. A shudder racked his entire being when she replied to Wendy, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Nice to see you again, Wendy. How was your first week of senior year?”

“Great.” Wendy replied, not sounding as nice. “How was your's?”

“Simply wondrous! I had a lot of fun, you know, with being on the cheer team and all. It's been quite exciting for me, I must admit.” Pyronica's tone grew very bored as she added, “Although, I find it funny I should find you here. I've been meaning to ask you why your roommate was at my party the other day. Neither one of you were invited.”

Dipper found himself become nonexistent in this conversation. He hoped this wouldn't end as sour as what had happened at the said party. But Pyronica had self-control. ...Right?

“Well.” The one girl that Dipper could see narrowed her eyes. “ _Robbie_ was invited, you should know that.”

“As in Valentino? I'm well aware.” Pyronica tightened her hold on Dipper's wrist slightly, for a mere second, as a way to say _It's alright. There's no need to worry._ "He's your boyfriend, I believe, so when I invited him I would have expected for  _you_ to go with him as a date, but I'm assuming he took Northwest instead.”

“Dusk 2 Dawn is the last place I'd want to be, so I asked Paz to go with him in my place. No harm done.”

Pyronica's breath brushed Dipper's ear, so it almost felt like she was talking to him instead of Wendy. “You honestly should know better by now. Pacifica Northwest is no longer allowed to go to any one of my parties.”

Dipper felt some type of emotion build itself up in his chest, and he released it by saying, “And it wasn't even ‘no harm done.’ What the _heck_ are you talking about?” He didn't know what it was that made him want to side with Pyronica instead of Wendy- was it her comforting presence, or the way she was managing to keep her cool while sounding threatening at the same time, meanwhile Wendy already seemed to be pissed off? “You _do_ notice that at the party, Bill almost-”

Once again the cheer captain have his wrist a light squeeze, this one saying _Don't get yourself worked up. I got this._ But Dipper knew that she knew he was right, and this was confirmed when she cut in, “Dipper's right. If he and I hadn't, er, brought William back to his senses, he would've torn your roommate apart. And then what would have happened, Corduroy? William doing jail time because of  _your_ mistake?”

 _Why is Pacifica going to the party such a bad thing?_ Dipper wanted to ask, but didn't. This probably wasn't the best time.

“Also, another question. How did she make it past 8 Ball?”

Wendy bristled. “It's not my fault Bill doesn't know how to keep his anger in check! How could have I predicted anything going so terribly wrong? You keep making a big deal out of nothing! Whatever happened between he and Pacifica, I'm sure-”

“How did she make it past 8 Ball?” Pyronica repeated, her voice persistently calm. “What, did she bribe him?”

“I don't know! I wasn't there!”

Dipper didn't know it was that Pyronica did, but it made Wendy hesitate and admit, “Yes. She most likely did.”

“See? That wasn't so hard! You're so good at cooperating, Corduroy!”  Yet another squeeze, _This is almost over, I promise._ “Now, if you don't mind, I'd like you to leave. I have William on speed dial and I don't think he'd appreciate seeing his boyfriend with you, not after what happened at the party between him and your roommate.” It wasn't until her next statement that her voice finally grew a dark edge. “When you get back to your dorm room, too, I'd like you to tell Northwest to be careful with how she acts around Dipper, try not to get on William's nerves, and that I'm going to _sick_ 8 Ball on her the next time she decides she wants to go to one of my parties. I'm not a fighter, but I won't be afraid to defend _any_ of them.”

Wendy looked down at Dipper for a moment, her mouth half-open and ready for a reply but she snapped it shut. She looked like she was about ready to turn around and leave, until she suddenly growled, “You and your friends, Pyronica, are just a bunch of sick drug addicts! Paz told me what happened when she got back from your party, and I felt bad for _him-_ ” She pointed towards Dipper. “-so I decided to talk to him after I bumped into him, okay? Is that such a bad thing to do? If anything, I should be trying to _protect_ him from you people right now!”

Pyronica made a _tsk tsk_ noise. “Does it look like he needs to be protected? He's a smart boy. He knows what he's doing. He can walk away from me if he wants to.” To show an example, she released his wrist. “And I wouldn't be so apt to judge us. If I recall what you said correctly, you don't even know why William and Pacifica hate each other. How could you possibly understand _any_ of this?”

Wendy opened her mouth again to reply, but Pyronica tacked on, “Yeah, I didn't think so, either.” Then she leaned in close and whispered to Dipper, “Come on, let's go.” And she didn't even need to pull on his wrist or anything. He was already following her.

There was a pregnant silence between them as they walked away, and for a while Dipper feared Wendy was going to run up to Pyronica with a challenge. But she didn't, and they kept moving.

It wasn't until they passed through the gates when Dipper reeled on the cheer captain, looking at her wearily. He mouthed, _Boyfriend?_

The pink-haired girl rubbed one of her eyes. “It's the cover that William used when you two went to the party, yes?” Dipper didn't reply. “Well, he decided that he isn't going to drop it.”

She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but how the heck was he supposed to know that? He hadn’t talked to Bill in days! “Why not?”

“I shouldn't be the one telling you his, but for someone like William, people always flock you when you're single. The attention isn't always so nice, is one way to put it, and it can get bothersome after a while. However, when you're dating someone…”

“...Then you're left alone.” Dipper finished, his throat starting to grow dry. It didn't take him long to see what the other was trying to get at. “So he doesn't want to be bothered.”

Pyronica grunted in response, beginning to pull bands out of her hair, freeing it from its braid. Once all of them were removed, wrapped around her wrists, she began to run her fingers through her hair to loosen up the curls. “Something like that.”

Dipper sighed. “So I guess I'm going to have to play along?”

“It sure would help him.”

 _Help him with what, exactly?_ He knew Pyronica wouldn't answer that question. “Why can't he just pretend that he's dating _you,_ though? I mean, I don't want to sound rude, but you guys are so much closer and-” The freshman made an awkward gesture. “That. So, uh, it would make more sense.”

“You're not wrong, it would, but whatever me and William had before, I'm over it now. It's done. Gone. Game over.” Pyronica smiled sadly and let her hands drop down to her sides, hanging loosely. Her eyes were bloodshot, showing how tired and/or stressed she possibly was, but yet they still held a serene type of wisdom. “I shouldn't be telling you this, either, but I will. This is a tip of advice. You are well aware of how childish he can be, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. Well, it's not particularly something that can be fixed by magic or the snap of a finger. It's a part of who he is, he can't help it.” Her gaze fell to the ground. “Smiling away all that happens to you and making jokes about it is _so_ much easier than actually admitting to how you feel deep down inside. The way William acts, all laughs and shoves and messing with people, is a way for him to stop thinking about all the problems and mistakes of his past. It's a way for him to pretend that everything is alright. It's a way for him to pretend that _he's_ alright.”

She might as well have shoved a knife in Dipper's chest, because his heart and lungs were aching. “I-I see.”

“When I first met him, he was a completely different person. Back then, we were just kids. This was such a long time ago, _long_ before anyone had thought to call me by my nickname, Pyronica, and he...he actually acted like he gave a crap. He was happy. And he was a whole lot like you are right now, to be honest. I think that's why I like you so much.”

Dipper felt his cheeks warm up a little at the compliment. He remembered Bill himself saying something about being a nerd when he was a kid, but he decided not to say anything about it, and let Pyronica continue.

The cheer captain sighed and began to walk on ahead, lightly slapping him on the arm as she passed by him so he knew to follow. “He's changed over the years, that's for certain, but he's never really grown up, is what I was trying to say before. He's basically an eight year old trapped in a twenty-one year old's body. He has the same needs that a little kid would, like constant supervision, lots of talking to, being taught the difference between right and wrong, and the like.”

The other opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't let him. “However so, he also needs someone to be there for him, someone to give him a pat on the back and a hug, maybe a ‘Everything's going to be alright' from time to time, you know? And, unfortunately, me and 8 Ball have been the only ones really doing that for him.” She cast a glance at Dipper. “I know I've asked way too much of you as it is, but would you mind doing that when me and 8 Ball aren't around? You don't even have to do that much, just try to act like a good friend would. It would do a ton more for him than you think, I swear.”

 _I've_ tried _to be his friend before, and look where_ that _got me._ In frustration, Dipper shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away from her, staring off in the direction of the trees like he had done when he was with Wendy. But he could sense that Pyronica was waiting for a response, so he grumbled, “No problem.”

Pyronica laughed half-heartedly. “Alright-y, then. I'll stop bugging you, but only because you look as if you're about to blow your casket. Though...is there anything in particular you would like to complain to me about?” she asked, quickly, causing Dipper to swivel around and look at her with a puzzled expression. “No, seriously. I literally just finished getting screamed at by a sassy redhead who has no idea what the fuck she's talking about. I think I'll be able to handle whatever it is you're thinking. If you hate me, fine.” She shrugged. “You're not the first.”

When the other _still_ didn't say anything, she stopped midstep and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him roughly and laughing. “Come on, Dipper! You must be thinking _someth-_ See? There is is. You're pouting. Best to tell me what's wrong and let it out. That's better for your health.”

Dipper glared at her. “Fine! You want to know what I think?” He threw his arms in the air. “It's bad enough that I had to put up with Bill and Pacifica almost tearing each other apart at the party. Why on earth did you have to go up to Wendy and-”

“I wanted to ask her a few questions, and I did. _She_ was the one who decided to act all smart. Hell, she acts like Pacifica's an angel, and yet she doesn't even know why William hates the damm girl in the first place.” Pyronica tilted her head to one side. “Anything else you have to say?” She didn't sound annoyed- only curious.

“What's so bad about Pacifica?” the freshman demanded, not pulling away from the other's hold despite how badly he wanted to. “You act like she's literally the worst person in the world! What could she have possibly-”

Pyronica cut him off on this as well, but of course there wasn't a direct response. “I told you to ask her or William about that. Next question. Preferably not related to that issue.”

“Bill doesn't like me.” Dipper grumbled absently.

“That's not a question, love.”

Dipper hesitated.

“Don't stand there! Let it out.” Was it his imagination, or had Pyronica pulled him in a little closer? “You won't feel better unless you ask, kid, so come on. I don't have all day.”

“What is _wrong_ with you people?”

Pyronica smirked. “Lord knows. Next.”

“What is wrong with _Bill_?”

“Piece it together, smartie. He's had a very terrible life basically since the day he was born. Or somewhere around that time, at least. Too much shit for one person to put up with. But you'll only find out about that if you ask him about it, if he hasn't told you about it already.” The cheer captain pressed her lips into a thin line. “I'll give you some free lance here. You're no longer limited to questions. Just _yell_ at me. Go deep inside yourself, find what's bothering you, and vent. I have nothing to do but listen.”

Dipper clenched his hands into fists. He started before he could think to stop. “Why can't you just answer me straight out? I mean, am I _that_ bad a person?” He paused, expecting a reaction from Pyronica, but didn't get one, so he pressed on. “You told me that Bill isn't a bad guy, but how am I supposed to know you're not lying? If anything, _Pacifica's_ the only person in this stupid college that’s been a good friend to me! She's super nice and smart, and Bill's a huge ass, but…” He frowned. “But…” Then he found his wording. “But for _some_ reason I would rather be friends with him than her. It's because I feel bad for him. I guess? Like, his mom _died._ That's horrible! But when I try to show any type of concern he just flips out or changes the topic of conversation! And of course there was the party, oh my God.”

Finally Pyronica spoke. “About that. What _did_ happen after I left with Pacifica? When I went back to check on you guys, you were gone.”

By now Dipper was on the verge of bursting into tears, like he had been at the party, but he didn't care. He felt like it was okay to be upset around Pyronica. “He said sorry about what happened and we talked for a bit. He, uh, he told me what happened after he lost me when we got to the party at one point, too. After that we went back to the dorms and went to sleep.”

“Is that it?”

“What do you mean? Of course that's it!” _The kiss part isn't important, the kiss part isn't important.._

Pyronica studied him carefully, and for a moment he feared she could tell what he was thinking. However, if she did, she made no sign of so. She instead pulled her hands away from him and raised them in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I believe you. You talked and left. That's great. That's nice.” Reaching over, she wiped away the tears from his eyes and pulled him into a crushing hug, running one of her hands through his hair soothingly. “Hey, it's alright. It's nice to talk, isn't it? It's nice, it's nice.”

“I want to be friends with both Pacifica _and_ Bill.” Dipper admitted. “How am I supposed to do that, though, if they hate each other so much? I don't want to have to choose a side.”

“You're probably going to have to.” Pyronica told him. “They're most likely never going to forgive each other for what happened. They both made horrible mistakes, but they're too stubborn to realize what they did on their own parts. They want to blame each _other_ for what happened, and that's what has everyone fucked.” She pulled out of the hug and looked him over carefully.

Then she smiled. “Though, if it makes you feel any better, the reason I went looking for you was because William told me to. He wanted to make sure you were alright.”

That actually _did_ make Dipper feel a little better. Maybe a lot better.

His next action seemed to come out of nowhere- or, at least, that's what he assumed Pyronica would've thought of it, with the odd look she gave him.

He began to laugh, any remaining tears in his eyes streaming down his cheeks, with but a single thought in his mind. _Stupid._


	13. Love is Momentous

The first month or so of classes were always the hardest to get through. They dragged on for what felt like years at a time, and adjusting to the transition from ‘summer fun on the beach and no worries’ to ‘stuck in a hellhole for about three-fourths of a year' was agonizing, to say the least. Even though no one really liked to admit it, the majority of people would rather die than have to get up at the crack ass of dawn in the morning and get bored out of their living minds for most of the day.

Bill, to put it delicately, was one of those people. _Especially_ since his classes started at 10:15, which was supposed to be the exact opposite of early in the morning.

It wasn't even that he woke up so much more than necessary on his _own-_ oh, no, it was because of his roommate's damn alarm clock, which went off at 7:30. And saying it was loud would be considered an understatement, because that thing was _horrible._ The amount of noise it made was enough to be heard by the little green people on Mars, and, with it's loud beeping caused the awakening of Bill on Monday through Friday, a brand new headache ready to greet him from the instant he shot open his eyes.

Admittedly, the beeping wasn't as bad after a few days, due to him becoming used to it fairly quickly… and the fact that he had demanded Dipper turn down the volume on it before he wound up smashing against the wall. But probably mostly because of that last part.

Either way, despite the alarm clock not being as annoying as it once was to him, it was still really, _really_ annoying.

However, today, on the Wednesday of the second week of classes, Bill had managed to wake up before the alarm went off. Taking it as a golden opportunity, he rushed over swiftly to Dipper's side of the room and hit the snooze button on the device right on the nick of time, at 7:29. He then leaned down and started shaking his resting roommate with practiced lightness (he'd learned his lesson from the first day). “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Counting today, there's only three more days left of these five days in prison.”

As much as it seemed so, it wasn't waking up at 7:30 that bothered him- or, at least, as much as he thought it would. It was being woken up by that _alarm,_ and Dipper being woken up by the alarm. He didn't know exactly why, but _he_ wanted to be the one to wake Dipper up in the morning, not some stupid box made in a factory that beeped insanely and couldn't even get decent reception on all the good radio stations.

Dipper made small, gentle kicking motions under the covers, which Bill learned was sort of a reflex for him, and yawned widely, reaching up with one hand to rub the sleep out of his large mocha eyes. Slapping Bill away with a tired grunt, he took a moment to sit up, like a rising zombie, and carefully combed his nimble fingers through his mess of curls.

“You awake?” Bill asked.

“Not quite.” Dipper replied drowsily, his gaze fixed on something behind the other male. He yawned a second time, then raised his arms above his head, stretching them. This eventually elicited a soft ‘pop,’ which was when he sighed and said, “M'kay. I'm up.”

“Great.” Bill stepped aside and allowed him to move out of the bed and, once he had taken a few steps towards the bathroom, laughed and joked, “It lives!”

Dipper shook his head. Though Bill couldn't see his face, he was sure that the brunet was smiling. Well, at least, he hoped so.

The bathroom door closed and locked, and Bill walked back over to his side of the room, slumping down onto his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, warm air entering and exiting with harsh force through his nose and mouth in turns.

 _One more year._ He told himself, letting  eyes slip shut. _One more year of this and I'm done. I won't have to go to this shitty school anymore, I won't have to stay in this shitty dorm room, I won't have to deal with all these shitty people…_ He bit down on his bottom lip, barely enough to begin to draw blood, which he lapped up unconsciously with his tongue. _I'll be able to get a place. A place for me and me alone._

Alone. That was all he seemed to be nowadays, wasn't it? He supposed that there was no changing that now.

Today was just another day. He would make it through, like he'd been doing his entire life up to now, and soon things would get better.

Would they, though? That's what Pyronica always told him. And it was what his mom used to tell him, too.

But he didn't like thinking about his mom. He grabbed the television remote off his dresser and watched a horror movie until it was time to get ready for the day.

* * *

 

_William was ripped out of his rest by the sound of shouting coming from the other room._

_His mom's room._

_Sitting upright upon recognition, he threw his blankets away from himself and swept his legs over the side of the bed before hopping off, his bare toes sinking comfortably into the soft carpet that covered the floor of his own room. Due to it being pitch black, he stepped carefully to make sure he didn't step on one of the many toys he had littered along the ground._

_Once across the room, he reached up and turned the doorknob, pushing the door open as slowly as he could, because he knew it's hinges tended to creak loudly. Then he transitioned from the cushiony, tickly feeling of his room's floor to the hard, cold one of the wooden boards that made of the hallway. A shiver shot up his spine on impact, and for a second he considered going back to his room so he could sleep. Tomorrow he had a very important spelling test, after all._

_“You're being ridiculous!” his mother shouted from down the hall, snapping him back to the reality of this moment and causing him to momentarily forget about the test._

No. _h_ _e thought, wringing his small hands together nervously._ Mom sounds upset. I need to see what's wrong with her.

_With that he walked slowly down the hall and towards his mother's room, which was currently the only source of light in the apartment. And despite that light, he tripped on a cardboard box on the way there, falling forward and hitting the ground chin-first. He almost cried out about how much it hurt, but froze when his mom's voice silenced. He saw her shadow, visible in the light from the room, rise, showing that she had stood up._

_“Shh. Shut up for a second," she said to whomever she was speaking to, and she faltered. There was then dead silence, and William feared she would come out of the room and see him. She didn't like seeing him awake so late at night (or would it have been considered early in the morning?)._

_But, after a long moment, her shadow lowered again. She had sat down. “No, no, I just heard something, is all.” There was the low, terribly distant chatter of someone else, which helped William realize she must have been talking to someone on the phone. “No, I am_ not _losing my mind, thank you very much.”_

_William remained in his place for a minute more, just to make sure that she wouldn't get up again, and when she didn't, he brought one hand under his chin to rub away the stinging pain. After, he moved his hands to cover his mouth so his breathing wouldn't sound as loud. He sat up, turned, and glared at the box responsible for his fall. He'd almost completely forgotten that he and his mom hadn't finished unpacking. In random places, there was still a ton of random stuff lying around all over the place._

_He stood and wiped the dust off his pajamas, continuing his dangerous journey down the hall. He stopped once he was at the door to his mom's room and peeked in through the crack that was open. What he saw was his mother sitting on the side of her huge bed, her ear pressed to her shoulder so she could speak on the phone while also folding some laundry. Why she would do that at a time like this, William didn't know, but he didn't care, either, when he noticed how distressed she looked._

_Her usually prim hair was a mess, fuzzed up with strands sticking out in random places, a gray steak able to be seen here and there. Her face was scrunched up with a ghastly amount of anger, and there were bags under her eyes. There were tear stains in fine lines that ran down to her chin._

_At first William wondered why she would be so upset, but in an instant he identified the deep, scruffy voice of the person on the other line and his question was answered for him. He felt his heart stop._

_“Don't you get that tone of voice with me!” his mother shouted, tossing the shirt she had in her lap on top of a pile of clothes she had been starting next to herself. “For the love of God, you need to start helping us out a little!_ I'm _the one who has William, and my wallet's damn near close to being empty! What happened to child support, huh? You have_ so much _money and yet all I'm getting out of it is what comes out of your paych-” A pause. More chatter. “Okay, first of all, he's_ your _son, too, you ass! Even if you're not here with us right now, it's your responsibility to help me take care of him!”_

_William gripped the doorknob so tight that his knuckles turned white. He hated his dad for always making his mom so upset._

_“I honestly have no idea how you manage to get away with as much as you do," his mom said dryly. “All he needs in a good father figure, and you can't even do that for him. Who's he going to play ball with? Who's going to be the manly figure in his life, huh? He can't have that because_ you're _not trying! You know this! How do you expect him to go to father-son bonding events to hang out or drive him over to hang out with his friends? What about family bonding? Why can't you just...visit? Why can't you be there for him?”_

 _She didn't seem to happy with whatever the response was. “Well, fine! Continue to only care about yourself, but when your son and I wind up living in garbage cans on the streets, please constantly remind yourself that it was because of_ you, _and let the thought haunt you. Never forget how horrible a person you are.” She removed the phone from her ear and hung up angrily, throwing the phone onto the ground with so much force that it should've broken._

_But it didn't. She groaned and grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging hard. Then she whispered, “Alright, darling, you can come out now.” William didn't move from his spot behind the door. “I'm fine, sweetie, seriously. Now come over here and sit next to me.” She pushed the clothes aside and patted the spot. “You owe me an explanation.”_

_The phrase ‘you owe me an explanation' usually meant incoming trouble, William knew, but he bit back his fear and pushed open the door, entering the room. He walked up to and climbed atop her bed, lying down, resting his head neatly on her lap. She smelled like laundry detergent and cherries._

_“Why does Dad hate us?” he asked quietly, attempting to avoid having to explain why he was awake at this hour on a school night._

_His mother began to run one of her hands through his dirty blond hair with a special kind of lightness. She spoke slowly when she replied, as if she didn't know the answer herself. “Your father hates a lot of people, sweetie. He doesn't want to help me take care of you because he doesn't love you as much as I do.”_

_“I asked_ why _he hates us.” William pointed out._

_“I don't know.”_

_William looked down at the phone, which was still lying on the ground after it had been neglected. “Is that why you left him?”_

_“Yes, William. I did so because I didn't want you to have to deal with someone like him.”_

_“Do you regret meeting him?” the boy asked, his stomach clenching._

_His mother seemed to ponder this for a long minute. Then her fingers trailed down to stroke his face, and she said, “Not even in the slightest. If I hadn't met him, you wouldn't have been born. And if you wouldn't have been born, then I would be very, very lonely. No matter how terrible your father is, he's the reason that I gave birth to you. I wouldn't have my life any other way.” She choked a bit, “You're the greatest gift I've ever received.”_

_Noting how upset she sounded, William reached over and grabbed her free hand, which was hanging at her side, with his small one. He held on like he would never let go again. “I'm glad I exist.”_

_“Oh, you should be, my sweet. You're going to grow up to be such a wonderful and handsome person, I'm sure.” His mother had deep hints of longing in her voice, as if she was trying to recall something long since forgotten. “You know, you look so much like your grandfather. He was such a kind, wise man, and he treated everyone he met with respect. He was a doctor, like I've told you before, and your grandmother was his favorite patient. They fell in love with each other on sight and, soon enough, they had me.”_

_“I don't want to fall in love.” William admitted. “Not if it makes me sad, like it made you sad. I don't want to be sad. A kid at school told me that happy endings don't exist.”_

_This, in turn, earned him a slap on the cheek from his mother- though, of course, it wasn't a hard, painful kind of slap, as he knew his mother would never intend to legitimately hurt him. The contact stung for but a second, and was gone. “William, you should know better than to listen to everything kids tell you at school. Whoever said that is wrong. Happy endings_ do _exist. They may take a while to come to light, but they do. It just takes time and patience, and it's something you have to work hard for.”_

_“What about yours?”_

_“I have mine, my love. With you. And I wouldn't have it any other way, like I told you before.” She sighed and continued to stroke her son's face, this time with the back of her hand, her knuckles brushing his skin in the cozy way that they usually did. “What me and your father had wasn't requited love, my sweet, because he didn't love me. He only wanted me…” She faltered. “...for, uh, things.”_

_“What kind of things?” William asked._

_A chuckle. “You'll learn that when you get older.” She always said that when they talked about her relationship with her ex husband, and it confused William a lot, but he didn't question it._

_William's eyelids began to grow heavy. He was so tired, he could barely hear his mother when she continued to speak. “My sweet, I actually_ want _you to fall in love with someone. I want you to be with that one special person that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside so they can take care of you when I eventually have to leave this world. As much as I'd hate to say it, I can't be with you for the rest of your life.”_

_It was true, William knew. Everyone had to die sooner or later. But he was still scared. “What if I don't find the right person? What if I wind up with someone like Dad, who hates everyone and won't love me back?” The thought alone was enough to make him shake._

_“You won't, my beautiful boy. I know you won't.” His mother's tone was confident. “You're such a wonderful human being already, and you've barely even reached adulthood yet. You have so much compassion and adventure deep in your core, just like your grandfather. It would be difficult for you not to find that perfect person.”_

_“How will I know if it's right?”_

_His mother smiled. “You will. You'll feel it. You'll be happy. And that's all I want, really. For you to be happy. I don't care who you decide to be with, as long as it's right in_ your _eyes, it's right in mine as well. Just continue to do what you're doing, good grades and kindness, and you'll get your happy ending soon enough.”_

_William's eyes finally closed, and in the second before he slipped away from the conscious world, he heard his mom whisper, “Promise me you won't be alone, William.”_

_“I promise, Mom," he whispered in return as he fell asleep. “I promise.”_

_He smiled and allowed the sweet scent of cherries and laundry detergent to overtake him._

* * *

 

“Nng...no, wait. Mom!”

Shooting upright suddenly, one hand tightly clutching his chest and his eyes wide open, Bill felt a shudder painfully rack his spine, spreading throughout his body within a fraction of a second.

 _Shit._ He lowered his head, staring down at the comfortable sheets of his bed. _Shitshitshit._ Every fiber of his being ached with something new and unfamiliar to him, and each intake of air was becoming increasingly more and more shallow, leaving him more exhausted rather than refreshed. His lungs felt as if they were burning, his heart pounded mercilessly against his ribcage, and he suddenly felt very, very cold. Grabbing at one of his blankets, he wrapped them around himself tightly, the only skin left exposed being that on his face, and began to rock back and forth, whispering reassurances that were very well lies.

 _It was just a dream,_ he told himself, screwing his eyes shut to ignore the ache in his skull. _It was just a dream, it was just a-_

But why had it felt so real? The answer was obvious- because it actually _had_ happened, back when he was a little kid. Back when he was so ignorant about basically everything. Back when he hadn't yet realized how cruel and unfair the world really was. Back when his mom was still alive, and was there at all times to comfort and care for him when no one else would.

Back when he was happy.

 _Those days are gone now. Mom's fucking_ dead. _You'll never be able to see her again. Get over it. Forget it. You're_ here _now._

He opened his eyes halfway, wanting so desperately to wipe away the gallons of sweat that drenched his forehead, but resisted. Any kind of movement would only make the ache worse, and he really, really, didn't want to make it any worse than it already was. No, he was going to stay in place and continue to rock himself like the big baby he was, because that was the only way he _could_ move without hurting himself.

 _So dark. It's so dark._ Of course it was dark. It was sometime in the middle of the night, and he should have been asleep, because he needed to rest in order to stay awake during classes. _I'm not tired. Not tired at all._ He pulled his blanket more protectively around his body, like it was a shield that could protect him from something. In reality, however, it wasn't protecting him from much of anything- not even the cold, apparently, as he was still shivering uncontrollably. His teeth began to chatter.

If it were possible for wishes to come true, right now he wished that he wasn't here. He wished he could be at the apartment with his mom, warm and toasty by the fireplace, playing with his dumb little toys while his mom made him hot chocolate.

He shook the pleasantries away. _That isn't going to happen. Not ever again._

He finally mustered up the courage to begin to run his hands up and down his arms to warm himself, but realized that he already _was_ warm- well, his _skin_ was. It was fiery hot to the touch, as if someone had just taken him out of the oven, but also not, because he was so completely covered in goosebumps and his blood and organs were freezing over. He was lightheaded as well, and thinking clearly was starting to become relatively difficult…

Then it got worse.

His stomach churned angrily, like he had to go to the bathroom, but not for the reason he'd originally thought. It wasn't until too late that he noticed the newly formed terrible taste in his mouth that was slowly making it's way upwards, before it came up and pushed on his uvula, and to his lips. He barely had time to throw his blanket away and lean over the side of his bed before whatever he'd eaten last decided to leave his body from where it had come in.

“Oh...oh my Go-” He coughed up a large, semi-digested chunk of food last, and it landed atop the disgusting puddle of vomit on the floor next to his bed. What made it particularly terrible, all in all, was how vividly he could see it despite how dark it was in the room.

He gagged, turning away and pinching his nose so the sight and smell wouldn't make him feel sick again. He placed his free hand on his throat, moving it down slowly, until it met his gut, which he clenched with a painful amount of force. He wheezed for oxygen, chest heaving with each breath and the effort it was taking. His stomach made another gurgling noise, and though this one was quieter, he took it as a sign that he should go to the bathroom before he threw up again. But he didn't want to move.

The aftertaste kicked in.

 _No more eating right before going to sleep for you, Cipher._ He was shaking.

He cast a worried glance across the room, expecting a certain someone to wake up and see him sitting here like a mess, but sighed in relief when there wasn't a single stir from the form resting peacefully in the other bed. That was good. It meant he wouldn't have to put up with Dipper complaining about him ‘soiling the perfectly nice smell of the room' or whatever the hell it was overly prim, extremely annoying and organized nerds complained about these days.

He frowned, as it also meant he had to find a way to clean up the vomit before Dipper woke up in a few hours. _Ah, cleaning up my insides from a cream colored carpet. That sounds totally possible._ He didn't even know how he was supposed to clean it.

Any worries regarding that issue were quickly forgotten a second later, though, when the urge to throw up returned. Bill jumped off the side of his bed, making sure to avoid what had already exited his body, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He turned on the light to the bathroom and slammed the door once he got in, then dropped down onto his knees in front of the toilet, pulling up the lid with rough force.

Gripping the toilet on either side, he hunched over, basically dipping his head into the toilet itself, and let go off what little he had left, if he really had anything at all. He dry heaved for a few minutes, scared that if he left, something else would manage to go terribly wrong. He didn't know why, but the bathroom felt like the single place he could be.

Finally, after what he thought to be years, he pulled his head away and flushed before sitting back. At a loss for breath, he stared up at the ceiling and absentmindedly wiped away what remained and was dribbling down his bottom lip. Not only did his stomach feel incredibly drained and empty, but he was thirsty as well. Was that normally what happened when people threw up? He wasn't all too certain, considering it was rare for him to come down with anything at all, even the common cold. His mom used to tell him his strong immune system was another trait that had been passed down from his grandfather.

 _Maybe the old guy could've given me his good life, too,_ Bill mused, glaring down at the chunky, semi-solid, pinkish red liquid he had stained his sleeve with. It wasn't like the stain mattered much. He could just get it washed off.

But the carpet was another story.

The senior ran a hand through his hair, sucking in a long, deep breath, the first one he took that night that didn't make him feel like his lungs were coming close to imploding. How was he going to be able to explain the stain on the floor to anyone on the head: _Oh, yeah, you see, I had this dream- well, it was more of a flashback- of me and my mom when I was, like, eight, and when I woke up I felt really sick and threw up all over your carpet. Please don't make me pay for it, I don't have a whole lot of money at the moment._ All that would do was earn him a big, fat expulsion, and he couldn't afford it- for a few reasons.

A knock on the door made his bones rattle. Then came the voice of the person he least wanted to have to deal with. “Bill?”

Bill got to his feet, too fast for his own good, his head beginning to spin from the forced transition. He rubbed at his temples until his vision was less jumbled and blurred. “What the fuck do you want, kid?” he demanded.

“Uh, can I come in? Is it safe? Like, you're not naked or anything, or…”

“Sure, why not?” He hadn't realized how loudly he was speaking until now, so he lowered his volume while still being able to contain his mirthful tone. “You've already managed to get in my business enough, what point is there in arguing?”

The door opened a crack, the right amount for Dipper to be able to stick his head inside the bathroom. His eyes were half-lidded, an indication he had just woken up, and his hair was a tangled mess. He sounded sleepy when he spoke. “Did you...Did you throw up? It smells _really_ bad.

Way to get to the point. Bill crossed his arms over his chest, but, unbeknownst to Dipper, it was more of a way to warm himself up rather than a way of looking sassy. Keeping his voice even was hard, but he did so, his ever-present snarky tone his one source of confidence in a position like this. No. He couldn't show any kind of weakness.

The older male said, sarcastically, “Wasn't me. A little elf man broke in through the window and tried to steal our food, _obviously,_ so I punched him in the gut, which caused him to throw up his magical essance. He then got angry and flew away.” The muscles in his jaw tightened. “What the fuck do _you_ think?”

Dipper didn't seem to be paying any attention and, if he was, he didn't care much. “Uh-huh. Right. Well, magical whatever or what, someone needs to clean it up.”

“No kidding, Sherlock. Anything _else_ you'd like to tell me?”

“Yeah, a few things, but they're more of requests, really.” Dipper opened up the door the rest of the way, revealing the items he held under his arms- cleaning supplies of different varieties, including antibacterial spray, a bag, a roll of paper towels, rubber gloves, and a spray bottle filled with a clear substance that bubbled. Bill had no idea where all of this stuff had been, because it sure as hell would have come in handy before.

“First of all, you should probably brush your teeth. Remains of your vomit are still in your mouth, and leaving it there overnight is a bad idea.” Dipper walked over and placed his supplies on the side of the sink as he spoke with such confidence, like he'd dealt with this kind of thing thousands of times before, then reached over and opened the medicine cabinet. He pushed things around for a few minutes before pulling out a smaller bottle with ugly orange liquid medicine, placing it next to the spray bottle. “Next, I recommend taking some of that stuff. Pour it in the _cap_ this time, it should be about the right amount needed.”

Bill held onto himself tighter. “What makes you think I'm going to listen to you and do all this?”

Dipper smiled sheepishly. “Because you know it's time to grow up.”

 _Time to grow up…_ That sounded oddly like something Pyronica would say. _Why_ on _earth_ did that sound like something Pyronica would say? Bill though he knew the answer to that, but he didn't want to say it out loud.

“Anyway," the brunet continued, as if the interruption hadn't happened, “After that you're going to need to use these cleaning supplies to get rid of the mess the elf man made, because he ran off and I don't want to go anywhere near it. If it winds up settling in the carpet, then cleaning will be much, much more difficult, and you probably won't be able to handle it, so do it as soon as possible.” He picked at the nozzle of the spray bottle a little. “Any questions?”

“Do I really have t-”

“If you don't want somebody to find it and you get into trouble, yes, you do.” Dipper replied, and gestured for Bill to step closer, which he did, and placed a hand on his forehead, only to pull away after but a second or two.

The younger male waved his hand as if he had just touched a burning stove. “You have a fever. Are you okay?”

Normally Bill would have been defensive about someone touching him. But not today. Today, he couldn't have cared less about boundaries being pushed of acting all tough so people could be scared of him and leave him alone. Today, he couldn't have cared less about how terribly weak he looked in front of Dipper. Today, he needed a hug, though he didn't know it. Today was different.

“No," he said, honestly. “I'm super cold.”

“The medicine should help with that.” Dipper told him simply, and walked out of the bathroom, closing the door on the way.

Sighing, Bill began to do what Dipper had instructed, grabbing his toothpaste and toothbrush from the cabinet.

It took him longer than he would've liked, mostly due to him wanting to get all the leftover vomit and the taste out _completely._ Once the brush had entered his mouth, he gagged- that taste plus the minty toothpaste was the worst combination ever to exist. He didn't decide that he was finished brushing until his mouth felt pure again, which was when he went for the medicine. He carefully poured the liquid into the cap, stopping when it was filled to the brim, and hesitantly, shakily brought it to his lips.

When worse comes to worse, he would have preferred chugging down a cup full of his vomit.

He turned on the water again, cupping some into his hands, and lapped at it greedily. He repeated doing this until the taste of _whatever_ that was became less unbearable to his taste buds. _I don't care what anyone says. I am never,_ ever _going to have anything related to that again._

Then, for his final and most horrible task, he gathered the plethera of cleaning supplies Dipper had left for him near the sink and exited the bathroom. He headed over to his side of the room, where the smell of vomit was still quite pungent, and for down onto the ground, placing what he had at a safe and reachable distance. He grabbed the rubber gloves first and pulled them on, saying, “So is this stuff supposed to clean _everything_ up?”

“Yes!” Dipper called from across the room, remaining true to wanting to stay away from the scene. By the way he sounded, he was most likely pinching his nose. “It isn't the first time I've dealt with vomit. My sister used to- er, I mean- eats glitter all the time.”

“Sounds like some good times.” Bill grumbled, ripping a sheet off the roll of paper towels. He (not so) casually started to wipe up semi-solid chunks of vomit with it, right after tossing the filthy thing ungraciously into a plastic store bag.

This process was quite possibly the most disgusting part, taking about fifteen minutes and costing half the entire roll of paper towels, but eventually he was rewarded with only what stained the carpet and not the actual pile of vomit. Though, admittedly, that in itself was pretty bad as well.

Dipper quickly instructed him to grab the spray bottle full of the bubbly clear substance next. The blond spent a good forty seconds trying to examine the liquid inside.

“What's in here, anyway?” he asked Dipper, pulling the trigger on the nozzle and squirting some of it onto the stain, and after a minute or two, its bubbles began to grow on the stain and form a fine pink color. _Cool._

“Cleaning secret me and my mom have. It’s a mixture of a few things, and it can get rid of almost anything, but you have to let it sit for a few minutes to get the best results.”

Bill tried to ignore how much at the mention of a mother. Because, oh, right, Dipper had a normal, non dysfunctional, not dead family.

Taking a deep breath, the senior dipped off another sheet and waited a bit, then started to wipe at the stain. To his surprise, everything was coming off easily.

“Huh.” He sprayed more and wiped a few times more in a repetitive manner, all until the stain was barely noticeable. In order to be able to see it, someone would have to be leaning down and squinting _really_ hard...but, even then, the only thing to see was one or two extremely light pink splotches. Of course, Bill had attempted to be rid of that as well, but at this point his arms were sore from scrubbing so hard, so threw his last sheet in the bag, tied it shut, and walked away to go disgard of it. When he returned, Dipper gave him the final command of basically bathing his side of the room in antibacterial spray, for safety measures.

It was after this when Dipper took his things back and headed into the kitchen to put them away. Bill sat on the edge of his bed, handed folded on his lap, and waited. Some moments passed, and soon the younger male returned holding a plastic cup filled with water.

He offered it to Bill. “Here. You lose a lot of fluid when you throw up and it can make you dehydrated.”

Couldn't argue with facts like that. Bill gingerly retrieved the cup from the other, taking a long, needed guzzle from it, and then some. When he finished all of it, he pit the cup to the side and sat back easily on his bed, leaning on his arms. Under normal circumstances he would have preferred alcohol, but, as stated before, this was different. This was not a normal circumstance. Surprisingly enough, the thought of _any_ kind of alcohol was making him want to regurgitate a third time. Luckily, there was nothing left in his stomach to be released.

He rubbed his knees and cast Dipper a dubious look, not sure of what to say. He never was one to thank people, especially not in time when they helped him due to him, in the end, growing angry because he thought he could've handled the situation on his own, though, always, he'd know that was a lie. Ever since his mom had passed away, the only things he actually _could_ do without supervision were smoke, drink, have sex with people he didn't even know, and bully and beat up people that bothered him. And, knowing how his mom had initially raised him, these were things she would kill him for doing if she was still around.

Especially the sex part. She'd always been sensitive to the topic of sex, considering the relationship she's had his father was all physical, with not a single bit of loving feeling (not on his dad's part).

This was the reasons she's wanted to make sure he'd found the right person before anything else, wasn't it? She didn't want him to mess up everything up for himself like she had.

All he'd been doing for the past three years was everything his mother had taught him _not_ to do. If anything, the single _good_ decision he'd made out of all of it was going to college, and even that had been out of pity, to make up for the fact his mom dropped out of college her sophomore year because she got pregnant with him.

“Thanks," he finally muttered, his eyes seeming to want themselves fixated on the ground rather than at his roommate.

“N-No problem.”

More silence. Bill felt something in his chest constrict, like someone had reached inside and wrapped their hand around his heart, giving it a firm, hard squeeze. He half-wished that someone actually would, just so he wouldn't have to be alive anymore. He wanted to be _there._ He wanted to be with his mom, so he could talk to her forever. She always knew what to say.

“Are you feeling okay?” Dipper asked, tearing him out of a forming fantasy.

“Fantastic," Bill lied. His tongue felt bitter when the word left his mouth, as if each untruth he told was tangling it up in a worse and worse position. And maybe it was.

He held out both his hands and stared down at them. Then he folded them, digging his nails into his palm. A long breath of warm air escaped through his nose.

“The medicine worked well, I guess," he chided without the slightest bit of enthusiasm. But this time he was telling the truth, so that was an improvement. He didn't feel quite as cold as cold or lightheaded as he had before. Sure, he was _tired,_ but that was reasonable. It was sometime in the middle of the night, like it had been on the night he made the promise to his mom. The promise he hadn't kept, even after all this time, all these years later.

It was funny, how stupid he was.

He was so busy laughing at himself, in fact, that he almost didn't notice when Dipper placed a hand on his forehead.

Almost.

“You're still warm," the freshman said blandly, letting his hand drop, taking its cozy warmth with it. “You should go back to sleep. A little rest and you'll be better when you wake up.”

There was something in his eyes that Bill couldn't identify- at least, not then. Something welcoming and inviting and so unbelievably _warm_ that it tore Bill's insides apart. The moonlight making it's way in through the room's single window reflected itself against Dipper, illuminating his face in a way that was amazing, scary, and unnerving all at the same time, and it made Bill's heart momentarily freeze, if not for a beat or two, before he managed to save himself the suffer of choking with a deep breath.

Because, the way he saw, Dipper looked too great, too beautiful, too unbearably _perfect_ to just be human.

Bill felt his Adam's apple bob in his throat. What could he possibly have done in these past three years to deserve someone like this as his roommate?

He didn't know what he had originally intended to say to the other, but it was stuck somewhere nonetheless, and all he had to say was, “Yeah, sure. Sleep sounds great.” Unintentionally, his next words came out harsh and angry. “You should go to sleep, too, and wake up tomorrow morning and start to fix your own damn problems.” _No, wait. I didn't mean.._

Dipper's face contorted. “Fine. I will.” With that said he took a step back, then turned around perfectly, his body moving in all the right ways, and walked over to the other side of the room. He turned the lights out, covering everything in the sinister blanket of darkness, but yet Bill could clearly see the other head to his bed, slowly moving to lie down in it. Lastly, he pulled his blankets over to shield from the lowering autumn temperatures, and rolled onto one side, facing away from Bill. Minutes passed and he was quiet, his form rising and falling with each heavenly breath taken.

Bill didn't look away until he was absolutely sure the other was sleeping, then moved into his _own_ bed and pulled his _own_ blankets to cover himself. To his disappointment, he didn't fall asleep right away, instead staring off into nothing and reconsidering each and every little mistake he'd ever made, and how it had all piled up to lead him to where he was currently.

This was only a way to make him feel worse. It made him want to go back in time and wash it all away, or at least brush it under the carpet while he still could, but neither of those were possibilities. _What's done is done._ He thought, resting his hands under one side of his face and burying it into one of his pillows.

With being sick, he should've been insanely sleepy, and he _was,_ but yet in wasn't enough to drag him off into the wonderful world of rest. For a moment he would have liked to think that he was starting to get insomnia, but that wasn't it. He shuddered for the umpteenth time and curled up into a feeble ball under the covers, in desperate need of warmth.

Was the room's window open? He didn't know. Probably. It might have been the reason he was freezing over.

Taking a deep breath, he sat up, his arms wrapped securely around his chest. It took him a while to gather up the strength to get out of bed again, but even when he did it was slow going. He didn't let his arms hang at his sides until his feet had hit the ground, and stood carefully, as if he was expecting to trip over something and fall onto his face. He didn't, however, and trekked the agonizingly long two feet to the window, which actually _did_ happen to be open, if only by an inch or more.

Slamming it shut and locking it, Bill let his hands slip down. He latched his fingers onto the edge of the windowsill. His mind drifted away as it tended to, causing him to stare out into the night with a deadpan expression, unblinking, nothing particular in his sights.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there like an idiot, and when reality caught him by the throat, he pulled his hands away from the windowsill and drew the curtains over the window. If he wasn't going to be woken up by the damn alarm clock later, then he sure as hell was going to be woken up the sunlight in his face. And he didn't want that. He just wanted to sleep forever.

But he was cold, and he couldn't.

 _Fuck._ He released the curtain, which he didn't notice he'd been clutching tightly until that instant, and turned around a full 360°, having to squint in order to see anything at all. The thing he hated about his eyesight was that whenever he concentrated on any single thing for too long, it tended to cause him massive brain pain. And it hadn't exactly helped that he just closed the curtain, thus blocking out any outside source of light and all.

His golden-colored gaze drifted over to Dipper's side of the room- which, in turn, caused his pain to escalate, but that was the last thing he wanted to think about, really- and a seed, an idea, made itself known somewhere deep in the crevises of his mind.

Truthfully, if he hadn't have been so tired, sore, and desperate, he would have gone against this said idea without a second glance. He would have kicked himself in the ass for coming up with such an idea. He would have thrown up his internal organs for coming up with such an idea. Heck, he would have drank until he died of intoxication for coming up with such an idea.

He walked across the room in a haste, past his own bed, past his dresser where he kept all of his clothes, past his own side of the room and onto what would have been considered his roommate's territory. He only stopped when he was at the foot of the other's bed. Dipper stirred ever so slightly, causing him to flinch and take a step back, in fear that the younger would awaken, but as suddenly the moving had ceased to a stop, and Bill made up for the lost step.

Catching the tiniest bit of silver reflected in the moonlight.  How had he not noticed that Dipper was wearing the necklace? Obviously the kid had to have been wearing it before then, unless it magically floated and rested itself around his neck when he fell asleep.

Bill frowned. Either the kid felt bad about him spending so much money on it, or he genuinely _liked_ the gift. The second option sounded more pleasing.

Though, whatever was true, Bill was having a hard time getting over how perfect the gift was for Dipper. It really _was_ worth the over one hundred bucks in the end, even after the uncomfortable conversation with the jeweler at the mall.

 _One hundred fucking bucks. Imagine what I could have gotten with that._ He recalled mentally slapping himself once the purchase had been made. _I should have expected her to think I was buying the damn thing for that ‘special someone’ in my life. Who he fuck buys jewelry for_ acquaintances? _Returning would've just made me look like a selfish jerk._

As time passed on, he grew to regret buying the necklace less and less. He couldn't figure out why, but whenever he noticed Dipper wearing it, a part of him would… warm up. And he liked being warm. A lot. Which was the reason he was at the foot of Dipper's bed right now.

 _You're going to kill me for this in the morning, but I'm cold. I need to be warm and you make me feel warm, so yeah. Sorry for the inconvenience._ Bill inwardly laughed. _It's hilarious because, of course, I'm never going to tell you this out loud._

Dipper didn't reply, as expected.

_Yeah. Same._

With the most cautious of movements as to not awaken the other, most likely the most cautious he'd used ever since the night he'd made the promise to his mom, he got onto Dipper's bed, freezing whenever the mattress were to creak and dip abruptly under his weight. Then, when he was at last safe, lying down next to his resting roommate, he pulled the blanket over both of them and slowly began to scoot in closer, until he was a centimeter or two from being pressed flush against the younger male.

He moved his arms to wrap around Dipper's neck, gingerly pressing their bodies together. A content sigh passing through his lips, he absently began to fiddle with the charm of the necklace, fingers grazing over the perfectly arranged sapphires with a careful lightness.

He wondered what other people thought of the the necklace. He wondered if it made them jealous.

He hoped so.

Surely it seemed to have caught Pacifica Northwest's eye, based on how she had practically been _drooling_ on it during the party. And the way she spoke of someone kind and generous buying it… Obviously she had no idea what the hell she was talking about, because Bill was neither kind nor generous. _That_ was something she herself had established _long_ before the party occurred. Just like she _always_ had every fucking little thing figured out on her own because she was _soo_ above and beyond everyone else. But, then again, rich people tended to be self-centered and overconfident, which didn't make her behavior much of a shocker.

In huge ways, Pacifica brought out the worst in Bill. It'd been this way for a few months.

Dipper shifted in the other's hold, grumbling something about his sister putting glitter on apple pie. In response, Bill pressed a chasté kiss to his ear and moved a hand down to gently rub his arm. The younger make silenced within seconds.

“Mmm…,” he mumbled.

Bill dared to lower his hand further, brushing it against Dipper's and interweaving their fingers together. He gave a light squeeze, which earned him no response from the other, for obvious reasons, but he chose not to allow himself to become bothered by it. If anything mattered to him at all in a moment like this, it was how badly he wanted Dipper to _not_ wake up to see them in the same bed together. The brunet could flip out as much as his heart desired in the morning, sure, he could kick Bill in the face again and throw him out of the bed, it wouldn't matter.

However, in this instant, Bill needed this. He needed to relax and indulge himself in this. He needed to make the most of this that he could, and Dipper awakening would just ruin all of that. He needed to stay warm, and this was the best way he could think to do so.

Burying his face into the juncture between Dipper's neck and shoulder, Bill let one final sigh escape his lips. His eyelids fell, shrouding everything he knew in darkness, but he didn't mind. In fact, he smiled.

_He was warm here._


	14. Love is Attainable

What felt like a millisecond after he had closed his eyes, Bill awoke to the pleasing sound of his roommate's breathing. Half-tiredly, he peeled himself away from the other, swiftly reaching over and hitting the snooze button on Dipper's alarm before it could go off. Then he moved back down into his previous position, arms wrapped comfortably around the brunet's neck, pulling him in close.

With reality not yet being able to fully catch up to him and tell him of his actions, he didn't get up on his own after this. Instead he groaned silently, nuzzling tiredly into his roommate's shoulder, hastily deciding to stay here for a little while longer. Although, the idea of just staying in this bed for the rest of eternity, curled up with Dipper Pines, didn't seem like such a terrible idea, either. He actually felt pretty alright with it.

 _Yeah. This is nice._ He felt their feet brush each other shyly, sending small electric sparks into his blood. The wonderful warmth, the one he had been craving so badly, began to pool in his chest and spread to his entire being, bathing him in a feeling he wasn't quite familiar with. It reminded him of how he used to feel whenever he was with his mom, but also not really- there was something about it that made this feeling completely different at the same time as well, but he wasn't able to detect what it was exactly.

 _No use makin' my head explode about it, though._ He yawned and lightly toyed with Dipper's necklace charm. Before long, his eyes closed themselves for a second time, and he drifted off into sleep.

...only to be woken up again in no time, this time lying on the ground, his limbs splayed out in a very uncomfortable position. It took him some minutes to sit up, rubbing his aching his head while he did. With an irritated glare, he turned towards his now wide awake roommate. “Hey! What the hell was that for?”

Dipper leaned over the side of the bed to return the sour look, but it was hard to take him seriously- his hands were shaking and his face was a bright, lovely florid shade. His expression at first glance was confused, then it contorted into something more along the lines of shock, and finally settled on disgust. He scrunched up his nose, transforming an even deeper red, if that was possible. “Wh...What...you…” He gnawed on his plump lower lip, hesitating, as if thinking of what to say. Finally he narrowed his eyes. “You. Slept...in _my_ bed.”

Bill was having difficulty determining whether that was supposed to be a question or a statement. “I mean, it _is_ kinda obv-”

“With _me in it!_ ” Dipper looked positively frantic, digging his nails into the bed sheets, his eyes searching the room, like someone would be hiding to see this. Surely Bill would have felt more guilty it he didn't look so cute, blushing like he was. “You slept _in my bed_ with _me_ in it!” Because that totally hadn't been established at this point. “What the hell was _that_ for?”

Letting the hand that was rubbing his head fall down to his side, Bill shrugged. A grin spread over his features. “I don't know, kid. It's September, the temperature's dropping, people have body warmth… Plus, there was also the fever I had last night. I was cold. I didn't want to freeze.” He wrapped his arms around himself and dramatically made a ‘brr' sound. “Would you have preferred for me to be _cold,_ Pines?”

Dipper scoffed and sat back on his bed, his face gradually returning to it's normal color. The other male had no idea what he'd been thinking, but whatever it was, it seemed to have made him _very_ embarrassed. “Whatever. Just...stay in your own bed from now own. There's two for a reason.” It came out as nothing more than a hushed whisper. He looked down at his wristwatch, blinked, and suddenly jumped out of his bed, rushing past Bill.

He didn't say anything, but the other guessed it must've been sometime after 7:30 for him to be in such a rush.

Bill got to his feet and squinted so he could see what the time read on Dipper's alarm clock.

8:27.

 _Huh._ Scratching his nose, the senior laughed quietly. He couldn't say it wasn't worth it, because it was. _Please save all regrets for later. Thank you._

It didn't take long for Dipper to get ready in the bathroom. He was dressed and prepared by 8:42, his hair soaking wet from taking a shower, which was when he grabbed his bag from atop his dresser and cast a dirty look in Bill's direction. “It's your fault that I'm going to be late, really. Unless one of those ghost owners from Dusk 2 Dawn decided to have revenge for the party by coming in here and hitting the snooze button on my alarm, I'd say it was you who did it.”

At this point Bill had been sitting in his own bed, which was cold from not being used the night prior. He had his television remote in his hand as he watched a cheesy 80s horror movie. He sighed and turned the volume down at the best part, the scene where the girl was about to go down into the basement and get killed by the axe murderer. He placed his remote at his side and shrugged again. “Who knows?” He said. “Besides, it isn't _fully_ my fault. You should be accustomed to waking up early by now. I'm pretty sure you'd be fucked without that alarm.”

“You know, you-”

“Hold that thought.” Bill grasped his remote and turned up the volume at the perfect moment, just in time to hear the girl's shrill scream as blood and guts spewed out of her body. It wasn't until she fell dead and limp on the floor that he said, “Alright, go on.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Forget it. It's 8:44. I'll just cook up some excuse for being late on the way there. You'd better _hope_ that I make it on time. You owe me for this.”

With that, the door to the room slammed shut with a deafening bang. As soon as the noise stopped ringing painfully in his ears, Bill slouched angrily and hit the mute button on his remote, silencing the television. _Ah, see. There it is. There comes the regret._ And it was kicking in at full force, too.

He didn't enjoy seeing Dipper this upset. Not even in the slightest. It was funnier when the brunet was simply blushing like nobody's business and stuttering cutely like he always did. _This_. This was not okay. This was painful.

Bill brought his knees to his chest and hugged them tightly. He almost considered going into the kitchen and fixing himself a bowl of rocky road ice cream, but eventually decided against it.

He'd had enough self-indulgence for at least a week.

* * *

 

Knowing how he was with luck, he didn't even have to step out of the dorm room to know that classes would fare no better for him. He'd been slammed with a shit ton of work, just as he expected, work that he didn't really have the willpower to do. The only good part of his day was culinary arts, which he had right before his scheduled lunch block, and that was due to this class being a good stress reliever. Cooking was the one thing he enjoyed most besides drawing and painting, and the fact that it was classified as a type of art (to a degree) made it so much better.

Today's dish to-be-made was written on the huge white board behind Professor Lilac's desk, in her neat, curved penmanship. Unfortunately, Bill had to stare at it for a while before the words could correctly make their way into his brain.

 _Dessert today!_ Directly next to the exclamation point was a cheesily drawn smiley face emoji, and below that: _Cupcakes. Your choice of vanilla or chocolate batter, both if it's what your heart desires. Can work alone or with a partner, NOT a group. A dozen due by the end of class. Don't get carried away with the frosting. Thank you, and have fun!_

Professor Lilac usually gave them the option of working with a partner, but Bill never went with it. He was an individual worker. Working with other people, who didn't do things exactly how he wanted them to be done, was a bother to him at best. The only occasion in which he would ask others for help was when he had trouble reading the recipes, and that was always- and even asking for something as simple as this was impossible, especially when he asked a female, due to all the girl doing when he talked to her was giggle, bat her lashes, and try to flirt with him.

It was frustrating.

“Hello, William," the heavily accented voice came from behind, startling him, and he turned abruptly, though halfway he figured out who it was. Professor Lilac was infamously known for sneaking up on people when they least expected it.

Bill forced a smile. “Hello.”

It was hard for really anyone to _not_ be downright intimidated by the professor. She was beautiful, with long, silky black hair and deep, intelligent dark blue eyes. She seemed to rock whatever she wore, and to make her all the more exotic, she used to be a high school teacher in some country in Europe before deciding to move to America so she could jump start her cooking career. All of the students she had loved her- in both romantic and unromantic senses, guys pining for her and girls wishing they were her. Bill, however, was just annoyed at the fact that she was the tiniest bit flashy.

The professor shot him a glossy-lipped smile. Why she wore make up, Bill had no idea, nor did he question. Her face and features were already naturally breathtaking (like that of a certain someone else Bill knew).

“Having trouble reading what's on the board, William?” she asked kindly. Her voice hinted at something more along the lines of _You need to start wearing your glasses again._

“No, I'm fine.” Bill lied.

She didn't seem to believe him. “Oh, that's nice. How's your day so far?”

 _Shitty._ “Fantastic.” Lies were fun.

Lilac nodded enthusiastically. “So you know what you're going to cook, then? You're ready?”

“Absolutely.” _Three times in a row. You're on a roll, Bill._

“Of course.” The professor flashed another smile before she turned away to the students who had just entered the room, greeting them.

Bill allowed his fake smile to fall away when she had diverted her attention from him, replacing it with a grouch. _Yeesh. It's the same shit every fucking day, isn't it?_ He headed to his assigned kitchen and pulled on his apron, narrowing his eyes as he attempted to read the ingredients and directions typed out on the piece of paper taped to his mini fridge- with help, as per usual- and got to work alone.

He wound up the first one finished, which came as no surprise to him, and _that_ was because everyone else seemed intent on talking about homecoming, which was a few weeks away. Pyronica and the other cheerleaders were apparently supposed to have some crazy surprise planned in order to ‘pep up the pep rally to it's max,’ he heard at one point or another, but that resulted in making him not want to go even more than before. He _hated_ being around peppy people as it was, he didn't need to be around ‘maxed out' peppy people.

Once he finished topping off his last cupcake in a flawless swirl of bluish green icing, he lifted up his tray and brought it over to the professor, who took one of the sweet treats greedily and ate a huge chunk of it in a single bite. Bill had decided on using both vanilla and chocolate batter, despite him not being too partial to chocolate, because if the professor permitted him to take the rest out of class, he had plans to share some with Dipper, and he had _no idea_ what the brunet would have liked.

Truthfully, he had no idea why he wanted to share these cupcakes with his roommate so badly. It was most likely in the hopes that it would make up for the bed incident. Of maybe it was just because he felt nice enough to share today. One of the two.

Professor Lilac _mmm_ ed after she had finished off the entire cupcake, wiping her face and fingers with a napkin. “Very well done, as always, William. One hundred percent for you, and keep up the good work.”

“Can I take these?” Bill asked impatiently.

The professor winked at him. “Yes, you may, for such a wonderful job. Share them with your friends.”

After this, Bill covered his tray in aluminum foil to keep the cupcakes secure, not wanting to have one just yet. He didn't have too big a sweet tooth because he wasn't fond of calories, so he preferred to eat foods like this on rare occasions or maybe at parties. It depended.

He spent the rest of the class relaxing and thinking and, when it was time to go, took his cupcakes and started to head downstairs to the cafeteria. This was something that should've been done quickly, if it wasn't for him continuously getting stopped by random kids in the halls, asking him for some of whatever he had hidden under the aluminum foil. This would earn them a glare and a back turn in response from Bill, who was starting to become very, very annoyed after the tenth person, because there was _no_ way he was going to give up this hard work to people who were far less important to him.

The cafeteria was full upon his arrival, which also wasn't a surprise. Lunch C was always jam-packed because the people who made everyone's schedules were idiots. Lunches A and B barely had enough students to fill up half the seats.

Pushing past people without losing hold of his cupcakes was next to impossible. Bill held it tight and close, as if were something extra fragile, like a child- and, in a weird sort of way, it _was_ like that. Anything he ever created was out of hard work and dedication, after all. Losing it at this point was basically his equivalent of dropping a wedding ring down a sink drain, only less expensive (but what was a little expense after spending over one hundred dollars on a necklace for someone he hadn't even known for a full month).

Bill wasn't hungry, so he decided against getting anything. Eating in general was something he didn't do a lot of, and, honestly, if humans could survive without eating anything at all, he would have totally been fine with that. Food meant calories, and calories meant more calories, and more calories meant winding up like one of those 300 pound men in tabloid magazines.

Sliding into an empty booth, the senior placed his tray on the table and slung his backpack off his shoulders, placing it at his side. Then he sat back, stared ahead absently at all the other students bustling in lines to wait for their lunch. What sucked the most, in his opinion, was that all the good stuff was the hardest to get- the mashed potatoes, the pizza, of any kind, really, the Italian dunkers… The wait was so long, he remembered why he didn't like to get lunch too often.

“Ahem.” The sound of someone clearing their came from but a few feet away.

Bill turned with a snarl curling at his lips, reading to snap at whoever was going to bug him for a cupcake next. But, upon recognizing who was there, his snarl fell away. To be replaced by a disapproving frown. Great. Not just one, but two annoying people in his life.

“Go away," he told them.

Pyronica smiled widely and slid into the booth beside him, disregarding the hostility. Of course, 8 Ball was with her, and he settled for sitting across from them, his expression equally as cheerful. They both looked as if they had gotten away with the bloody murder of someone they didn't like.

“Sure is nice to see you, too, William.” Pyronica remarked, pulling him into a quick side hug. “And, to think, _this_ is the reaction I get for taking time out of practice to come and see one of my favorite people in the entire world during his free time.” She affectionately pinched his cheek.

8 Ball, on the other hand, wasn't much for introductions. He dived in for the tray of cupcakes. “Oooh! Food! What'd you make today?”

Bill managed to slap them both away and pull the tray possessively close within a matter of seconds. He cast them death glares one at a time. “What are you guys doing here?”

“I'm here to talk about what everyone else has been talking about.” 8 Ball immediately replied, hitting his clenched hands onto the surface of the table. Leaning in close, he whispered, “So what's this about you officially being off the market? With your roommate, no less.”

Bill mentally face palmed.

“Sweetie, I told you already it's a cover up.” Pyronica pointed out, but her eyes were fixated on Bill in such a way that the blond would have assumed that she didn't believe what she was saying. Her gaze floated away from him after a second despite this, and she looked over at 8 Ball, continuing, “Y'know, so William can be _left alone._ ” The way she emphasized the last two words didn't sound right. “...Just like he _wants._ ”

8 Ball didn't seem to get the point she was trying to make, because he was still grinning widely. “When you say it like that, in such a secretive way, it almost sounds like you're up to something.”

“Go. Away.” Bill persisted.

“What? I'm just saying.”

“Well, I'm not in the mood today. So go away.”

Pyronica intervened, reaching over towards Bill's tray, pulling over some of the tinfoil all while ignoring his protests, then removed a chocolate cupcake and offered it to 8 Ball. “Here, love. You can have this…” She pulled it away before the big guy could grab it. “...only if you scram. You're cutting a class right now, anyway, so you might as well go somewhere and be useful.”

“Alright, Py, give me the damn thing.” And, once he had gotten what he was after, 8 Ball exited the booth and walked off, disappearing into the crowd of people that were forever flooding the cafeteria.

With a smirk, Pyronica turned back to Bill, who was folding the aluminum foil back into its place and grumbling curses incoherently under his breath. She said, confidently, “There. He went away. Are you happy?”

 _Ten cupcakes left…_ “I meant that I wanted the _both_ of you to go away.”

Pyronica clicked her tongue. “I'm not going to be as easy to get rid of, William. I'll leave when you tell me why you're-” She paused to make air quotes. “-’not in the mood.’”

Bill lowered his gaze. “That's none of your business.”

“Honestly, it is if you look like you're about to cry," the pink-haired girl replied, crossing her arms over her chest. She went quiet, her lips pursed and her eyes examining Bill closely. It was like this for a few minutes before she added on, “You're thinking about your mom, aren't you?”

“Last night I had a dream about her from when I was a kid.” Bill admitted, proceeding to mentally shoo Pyronica away.

Pyronica rubbed her jaw. “The promise?”

“How did you-”

“I can feel it. You only ever brood like _that_ when you're reminded of it," the cheer captain sighed. “Okay, I know you aren't necessarily pleased with the fact that she isn't around to hold your hand anymore. Heck, neither am I. She might as well have been my mom, too, I love that woman so damn much.” She placed a hand on Bill's shoulder in reassurance. “But you have to realize, she died _three_ years ago. Three years is a long time to heal… or, at least, to accept the fact that she's gone.”

Bill leaned forward in his seat so that he could rest his chin on the table. In frustration, he blew hot air at the napkin dispenser. “Py, you tell me that every fucking da-”

“And so I should.” Pyronica interrupted, watching him with distaste. “You're hurting yourself with this, William, and you're well aware of it. You need to sit down and think, ‘How can I help myself heal?’, then you need to do that to make things better. Sitting around and acting like a three-year-old isn't going to make you feel better. Trust me, I tried that when my favorite cousin died in that car crash.” Upon speaking, she reached over and grabbed a handful of Bill's golden curls, yanking his head upwards roughly, earning a yelp of pain from him in return. “Maybe you should try to fulfill that promise, for starters. It might give you some closure. And no sex on first date shit, mister. Your mom would kill you for that, if she weren't, um…” She cleared her throat. “Just give it a shot.”

“Absolutely not.”

“And why's that?”

“I hate people.”

Laughing sardonically, Pyronica smacked him on the back of his head. “No, you don't. You don't hate anybody. You're just too childish to try.” She cupped her face in her hands, looking at him with a grave expression. “Damn roommate's more mature than you," she muttered under her breath.

However, Bill heard (and, at the time, he had no idea that she had actually intended for him to), and he shot upright on instinct, his entire face contorted in malice. “Excuse me?” It wasn't him asking for Pyronica to repeat herself- it was him _demanding_ for Pyronica to repeat herself.

Pyronica threw her arms in the air, raising her voice loud enough for heads to be turned in their direction. She spoke slowly. “I said that your dorm roommate is more mature than you are.” With an eyebrow wiggle, she brought her voice back to its normal volume. “Do you have a problem with me saying that, William? Because it's true, and there's _nothing_ you can do about it.”

Blood boiling in rage, Bill made a sudden motion, shooting forward so he could wrap his hands around her throat and throttle her, but stopped short of making the action a reality when she laughed and said, “Gotcha!”

Mystification blocked out his anger in an instant. He let his hands drop back down onto his lap, where they had been previously resting, and raised one of his brows. “What are you _talking_ about?”

Pyronica reeled on him then, moving so swiftly that his eyes could barely register her at all. When his sight adjusted, he saw that her face was horribly close to his, a sickly sweet, cocky grin the highlight of her normally angelic features.

“Aha!” she cheered. “I knew it! You weren't thinking about your mom at all, were you? You were thinking about _Dipper._ ” She lit up with realization, placing a hand over her mouth as a gasp escaped her lips. “ _He's_ who's been bugging you, isn't he, William?” She leaned in closer, pressing her nose against Bill's. “There's no use lying to me, by the way. I already know the answer.”

If Bill didn't know any better, he could've sworn that his cheeks were heating up. All of this was happening way too fast for him to process, he could barely even think.

So he went with the first words that happened to bubble up his throat.

“You're wrong.”

Pyronica giggled at that, pulling away just enough so there was breathing room between them. “Nuh-uh, babe! You're _blushing._ ” She grasped his cheeks in her hands and began to repeatedly pinch them with her fingers. “You know that I'm right. Right? Right, right.” She looked as if her team had just made it to a national cheer competition. “Come on, William! Please tell me what's up. I'm trying to help you, darling. What about this kid has got you so, so, _sooo_ worked up?”

Bill pushed her away and moved back in the seat until he felt the wall press against his spine. It felt as if he and Pyronica were children again, her pestering him with questions if he so much as _looked_ at someone for a split second longer than what was considered normal. “Nothing has got me worked up, _Veronica._ Besides, if anything did, which it doesn't, I wouldn't tell you about it because it's none of your concern.”

The cheer captain didn't seem fazed by the use of her real name. She tapped her nails against the surface of the table, humming, her expression turning into something more neutral, though she still emitted the aura of being overly pleased with herself, as they both knew that she was almost never wrong.

As if to make that point worse, she said exactly what Bill wanted her to say the least.

“I know you like him.”

On impulse, Bill slammed his head onto the table and groaned. “Py, if you care about me at all, you won't make me suffer with this.”

“-and I know you want him to like you, too.” Pyronica continued, pretending that she couldn't hear him, a task she could do quite well. When Bill shifted his head to peek over at her, she had her lips pressed into a thin line, and she was nodding, confirming every word she was speaking as truth. “Probably more than you think you should. And I find that cute.”

The blond bared his unnaturally sharp teeth, all the while keeping his head firmly pressed against the table. It was surprisingly cozy down here. “Okay, okay, great. If I agree with everything you say, even though you're completely and totally wrong about this, will that make you go away?”

“Why do you want me to go away so badly?” Pyronica was laughing, but if Bill had been able to see her clearly, he would have noticed her pained expression.

“Because," he returned the slow, speaking-to-a-little-kid tone as some kind of vengeance. “I. Want. To. Be. Alone.”

“Ah, so, like, the complete opposite of what you promised your mom," the cheer captain pointed out.

“I'd really appreciate it if you stopped repeating what I already know. Thanks.” Bill clenched his hands into fists, wanting so desperately to break something or beat the living lights out of someone to release his anger. But, instead, he settled for digging his nails as deep into his palm as he physically could. He half-wished his nails were longer and sharper; he would be able to draw blood that way.

Pyronica didn't say anything to him right away, which scared him. She was thinking, and he hated that, because when she did she usually wound up saying something super smart to prove _him_ wrong.

A few moments passed before she said, “Fine.”

 _Fine._ Was that it? Bill dared to fixate his gaze on her, trying to study her face (which would have been easier if his vision wasn't so terrible at the time). _Fine._ What the heck was that supposed to mean? _Fine._

Pyronica furrowed her brows. “You know what, it's fine. It's great. You-” She glared at Bill and began to gesture wildly with her hands in a way that was indecipherable. “You can believe whatever you wanna believe, alright? You can go and have a fun time lying to yourself about how you feel regarding everything in your life, it's freaking _fine._ ” Seeing her this upset was a rarity, and it bothered Bill, but he didn't say anything and caused himself more pain by allowing her to press on. “I mean, like, I'm only trying to help you out here, William, because I care about you. A whole lot.”

The cheer captain stood then, raising her hands in defeat. “You want to be alone? Great. I'll leave. And, when I'm gone, I can guarantee that you're gonna want me back here. Just wait.” She reached over him and pulled away the aluminum foil on his cupcake tray. “Also, I'm taking a cupcake because you've been a jerk and I'm stressed. And start wearing your glasses again, idiot. It's obvious that you're struggling to see.”

Bill chose not to take any regard into her words, and even allowed her to take the cupcake. He moved his arms so that they could entirely conceal his face, and waited until Pyronica walked away to start crying.

It was the first time he'd cried in three years.

* * *

 

The rest of the day didn't play particularly well in his favor, either.

None of his professors cared that he was in a sour mood, because he wound up getting the same amount of homework- dorm room work?- that he always did, which was a lot.

To make matters worse, his eyes seemed about ready to explode. His skull pounded agonizingly bad behind his sockets and his vision danced with black dots, plus whenever he moved his head everything would become blurry, and trying to focus on anything would only result in causing his head to pound harder.

It didn't take him long to lose his ever-loving mind because of it.

Words couldn't possibly describe the amount of relief he felt when classes were finally done for the day. He sauntered the entire mile back to the dorms to the best of his ability, stumbling every so often whenever he came upon a dibit or such in the ground, the spinning in his brain increasing more and more with each careless step. Focusing on much of anything was difficult with his vision continuing to blur… He was going to pass out if he didn't pick up the pace. The tray of cupcakes in his hands and the backpack on his shoulders was starting to feel heavier than they had before.

The door to his room was unlocked, which was fortunate for him, seeing as he had forgotten to bring his key. Thank God for Dipper finishing classes before him.

Shifting to bare the tray in one arm, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, walking into the room with small steps. Then he picked up the pace. Walking towards the kitchen, he dumped the tray onto the counter. Once the weight of it was gone, he screwed his eyes shut and rubbed one of them with a hand.

He didn't notice that Dipper had come up behind him.

“What's in the tray?”

Bill spun around suddenly, eyes bolting open. Upon first sight, he had to narrow his eyes a little so everything could be a little less distorted. It wasn't until he could made out Dipper's face more clearly that he replied.

“Oh. Well…” He blinked carefully. “Just something I made in culinary arts. Uh, cupcakes.”

Dipper smiled. “I like cupcakes.”

“Eh. They're fine. I'm not a huge maniac for desserts.” The older male scratched his nose and gestured to the tray. “You can help yourself to one…if you want, that is. I assure you that none of them are poisoned in any way. Trust me, three people have already taken their own, and I'm certain they're still alive and healthy.”

Nodding, Dipper stepped over and began to unfold the aluminum foil, then grabbed a paper towel from off the roll on the counter and used it to pick up a vanilla cupcake. He took a small bite out of it, in a way so he could capture both the cake and the frosting parts and taste them at the same time. He chewed carefully, and swallowed. His smile broadened into a grin. “Wow, this is actually really good. _You_ made this?”

Bill covered his forehead and eyes, swaying with dizziness. Taking some medicine really didn't sound like a bad idea right now. “Yeah. I make things all the time. My mom… she taught me how to work with food. She told me how to… she taught me me how to make a lot of things.” He gulped.

“Are you okay?”

“I need to take a shit.” Bill said, storming past the other male without another word, heading towards the bathroom. On the way he slung his backpack off his shoulders and threw it next to his bed hurriedly, rushing into the bathroom right after and slamming the door.

He pulled the medicine cabinet open and ran his fingers along the contents inside, trying to make them out. After searching awhile, he took out of Dipper's many bottles of medicine, the one with the orange liquid he'd taken the night before. He twisted open the top and brought it to his lips, taking a long, needed guzzle while trying to avoid how it tasted.

When he was satisfied, he lowered his head and twisted the cap back on, placing it back in its spot in the medicine cabinet. He closed it and leaned down, turning on the sink faucet and bringing water into his cupped hands, exactly how he had done last night, and took sips of it to wash out the taste of medicine. He didn't stop until the taste was at least 99% gone then left the bathroom, closing the door on his way out.

Most certainly, he did _not_ expect Dipper to be waiting for him there, holding a cup of water.

“Whoa, kid. You're just sneaking up on me today, aren't ya?”

The brunet laughed nervously. “I assumed that you were feeling sick again, so here.”

Bill took the water and finished it in a single sip, despite already having had water less than two minutes ago. He proceeded to poke holes into the empty plastic cup with his nails, laughing as well. Never in his life had he felt so uncomfortable, especially after what Pyronica had told him earlier. He said, “Yeah, I guess, but I don't have a fever like before. I...I actually feel woozy for a completely different reason.”

With only the edges of his vision being cloudy now, he could better see Dipper's face contort into concern. “Do you, um, know what that reason is?”

“I _guess_ so.” Frowning, Bill started to rip the poor cup apart. This was a lie. He knew _exactly_ what the problem was. And so did Professor Lilac. And Pyronica.

Based on how the brunet wasn't speaking, Bill assumed he was waiting for answer. _Here goes everything._

A sigh. Then, “It's because I stopped wearing my glasses.”

“...What?”

“My glasses.” Bill repeated irritably, pointing to his eyes with the hand that wasn't abusing the cup. “You know, the kind you get from your optometrist. Yeah. I got them prescribed sometime before my mom died due to it being hard for me to focus on things. I stopped wearing them around a year ago because I hate them, so they've kinda just been sitting around and collecting dust.”

“Glasses? _That_ explains why you keep squinting.” Dipper's eyes widened. “You _do_ realize that when you stop wearing glasses, it can only make your sight w-”

“Worse.” Bill cut in. “Yes, I know, I know. I get it, and I've noticed. It got pretty bad today. My head hurt a lot. It _still_ hurts a lot.” Smirking half-heartedly, he directed his gaze to the floor and laughed at himself. “Fuck.”

He could feel Dipper looking at him. “So where are your glasses now?”

“In the top drawer of my dresser," the senior admitted. He lifted his head. “They- Hey! Where are you going?”

But Dipper was already opening the top drawer of Bill's dresser, digging through the shirts that were inside. “Hey, kid! Leave that alone! You have _no right_ to stick your grubby little hands in _my_ -”

“Got it," the younger male grumbled, taking something out of the drawer before closing it and heading back towards Bill. As Bill feared, he was holding a black cylinder case.

The blond took a threatening step forward. “Put that ba-”

“You don't scare me anymore.”

Bill flinched. No one had _ever_ said that to him. Not once.

Dipper opened the case and removed the glasses from inside. He moved the case under his arm and held out the glasses to the other male, trying to put them on him. He let out a grunt when Bill ducked away. “Come on, there's no point in making your sight worse by not wearing them. You might as well put them on. What's the worse that could happen?”

“Everyone would make fun of me.”

“You're being ridiculous. Besides, if anyone _did_ make fun of you, I'm sure you'd beat the shit out of them.” He had a good point. “Now stand still. I'm trying to help you.”

Bill figured there was no point in arguing further and obliged, ceasing his movements and allowing Dipper to slide the glasses on.

The brunet was cautious when doing so, holding the accessory in one hand while using the other to lightly tuck the little blond strands near Bill's ears away. Then he moved the glasses into place over Bill's eyes, his fingers lightly brushing over the older male's face as he adjusted them.

At first, upon seeing through his glasses and not on his own, everything had begun to ache again, starting with his sockets. Bill shut his eyes and waited until it ebbed away, and, when it did, blinked one of his orbs open. And the other. He was taken aback at what he saw.

Everything was so much _better._ Whereas his entire world had been blurred and hazy, now it was vivid and bright. It took him a few moments to become used to the sudden change, of course, and when he did a wide, happy smile took over his face. He couldn't _remember_ the last time he'd been able to see this well.

His gaze flitted down to Dipper, who had been staring at him with an unreadable expression, and his smile fell away as fast as it had appeared. He felt his cheeks heat up.

“What?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with my face?”

Dipper blinked, as if he had been snapped out of trance. A few seconds of silence passed and his face grew a fine shade of pink, too. “W-What? No!” He raised his hands defensively. “No, no. There's nothing wrong. It's...just…” He blinked again. “You...You look different with glasses. A lot different.”

Bill's heart did a kickflip. “Good different or bad different?”

“I-” Dipper cut himself short of whatever he was about to say and chewed down on his bottom lip. He seemed to be thinking about something.

After he released his worried lip, he said, “Good different.”

Bill wasn't sure he believed it. His glasses felt so awkward and heavy, nothing more than dead weight on his face hanging on by his ears. He was also aware that they tended to make his eyes much larger than they really were, which he wasn't too fond of, but Pyronica had described it as endearing. He found himself wondering how she would react if she saw him wearing the glasses again. She'd most likely do that half-squel/half-choke thing that girls were known to do when they were extremely happy.

Realizing that his lips had become dry, he ran his tongue over them in a slow fashion, trying to unsuccessfully think of what to say to Dipper.

“Thanks," he whispered at last, lamely.

Dipper hesitated before nodding. “I didn't really _do_ anything, but okay. You're welcome.”

Bill cringed. He hated himself.

But, of course, his mouth continued to move and make things worse. “Did you...did you finish your cupcake?” _What the fuck was that?_

“No. When you rushed off I wrapped it up in the paper towel and got the cup of water.” The brunet gestured weakly to the crushed plastic in Bill's hands. “The cup you apparently wanted to get revenge against. I guess.”

Bill threw it into the nearest trash can, which, conveniently, happened to be a few feet away. “Oops.”

Then he remembered the main reason he had brought the cupcakes back in the first place. He cradled his arms behind his head and sucked in a breath, gathering up the courage to speak.

“Listen," he said, “I'm really, really sorry about sleeping in your bed last night and everything. I was just tired, sick, desperate, and stupid. And cold. Until people from the head send someone to come in and get the blankets and stuff changed for the incoming winter months, things aren't going to get warmer than they are at the moment.”

Dipper sighed, and Bill was almost scared that he would snap again. But he replied, “It's fine. It's not like you did anything….wrong.” The last word came out in a forced way. “To be honest, the reason I got so upset was because you decided to hit the snooze button on my alarm. I don't like waking up late, and I _definitely_ don't like being late to school.” He shifted from foot to foot, staring down at his socks in what was obviously a way to avoid eye contact. “I got to class on time, though, so it's cool. 8:59. If I had left a second later things probably wouldn't have ended as nicely for me.”

That certainly made sense. The professors here usually handed the students ass on a platter if they were even a second late to class. Bill knew _all_ about that- he'd been late on a few occasions, opening the door and walking in silently despite knowing that everyone's eyes were on him, secretly judging him. The worst part was almost always the professor's glare. Other times it was the short speech about responsibility they gave. It depended upon how much they hated him.

“So I'm forgiven?” Bill asked.

“Sure.”

The senior allowed the tension in his shoulders to disperse. That was very refreshing to hear.

“Now, if you'll excuse me, I have homework to do.” Dipper pressed his lips into a thin line and shot Bill a half-assed salute, then headed to his bed and sat down. He picked up the bulky book that had been resting near his pillow and pulled it onto his lap, beginning to read.

“Oh. Right. I have homework to do, too.” _A shit ton of it, at that, but who's complaining?_ Bill headed to his own side of the room and picked up his backpack which had been in the same spot he tossed it, and pulled out his calculus book. _Might as well get the hard stuff out of the way first._ He thought, crawling into his bed, _so I can finish off with the fun stuff._

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he looked up from his lab homework to be greeted by the darkness of night. Fixing his glasses over his eyes, he turned his head to look out the window. As he expected, the moon was out and the stars were shining. There were the distant sounds of owls hooting, crickets chirping, and other pleasurable nightly noises off in the diatnce.

He placed one of his hands over his mouth as he yawned, raising the other arm in a tired stretch. His neck was stiff from sleeping with his face buried in a packet, so he moved his head from side to side in order to gain some relief, to no avail. It was going to start aching very soon.

 _I'll just finish the rest of this shit later._ He threw the lab packet and textbook atop his dresser carelessly, then put down his glasses next to that. He plopped his head down onto his pillow and, though he wasn't as cold as yesterday, concealed himself under his blanket, curling up.

He faced Dipper's side of the room. The slightest frown tugged at the corner of his lips.

After an eternity, he rolled over onto his other side, facing the window instead.

He didn't fall asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dipper with glasses? That's overused. Let's try _Bill_ with glasses, yes?
> 
> Happy Memorial Day weekend, by the way! I hope you guys are as ready for summer as I am! My last day of school is on Tuesday, but even then I won't have a break because I need to move _really_ soon. But don't worry, because I'll probably still have plenty of time to write.
> 
> Ciao!
> 
> (PS I'm halfway through the story already! Whaaaat.)


	15. Love is Concise

“Okay, okay, so...who began to question the practices of the Roman Catholic Church in the 1500s?”

“Scholars and clergy.”

“Right. And next we have, uh, hold on.” There was the gentle sound of a page being turned. “Ah, this one. What motivated these individuals?”

“Christian humanism in northern Europe, duh. Come on, Pine Tree, this is easy shit here. Give me a hard one.”

Dipper licked his lips, flipping through the notebook Bill had given him. The blond had insisted he help him study for an upcoming test on the Protestant Reformation, which was a request that quite literally could not be refused. Sure, the notes were all in terrible handwriting, hence the reason why Dipper was having such a hard time reading them and coming up with questions, but, admittedly, Bill's penmanship _had_ gotten better since he started wearing his glasses.

Thumb brushing over some bulleted points, Dipper had to squint a bit in order to read what was written. “Who was responsible for starting the Protestant Reformation?” he asked.

“Martin Luther.” Bill replied immediately. He was sitting on Dipper's bed as he was tested, his knees brought to his chest, hugging them tightly. He was staring off into the distance rather than at the notes, which was how Dipper could tell he wasn't cheating. “And, no, I don't mean the guy who helped stopped segregation. I mean the guy that lived and died a really, really long time ago. The guy who nailed the 95 Theses on the door of the Catholic Church because he didn't approve of priests selling indulgences. He believed that people could gain salvation through good works.”

“...That is _much_ more than what I asked you for, but it's all correct, so good job.” Dipper stared down at the words on the page. “Hmmm. What year did Luther nail the Theses?”

“1517.”

The younger male couldn't stop himself from laughing. “I have no idea why you want my help studying. You obviously know all this Reformation content by heart.”

Bill shrugged, still not looking at or fully regarding the other. “Yeah, I guess, but the problem is I'm bad when it comes to taking tests. My brain kinda just...fries. Heck, sometimes I even forget how to write my own _name_ on a test.”

“William? You forget how to spell _William_?”

“Let me see. W-I-L-L-I-A-M.” Each letter came out slowly and cautiously, as if Bill was having trouble using his tongue. He hesitated. “That's right, I'm pretty sure." Was he kidding? "I've never been much of a speller, either. I was always that kid who got kicked out of the spelling bee first. Like, I'd spell _apple_ with one _p,_ or maybe I'd forget about the _e_ at the end. Or something.”

Dipper closed the notebook and ran a few of his fingers around the edge of the smooth black cover, gaining friction when he got to the side with the rings. “It's the complete opposite for me. I love tests. I usually never get below an A+ on any of them. Also, spelling bees were always like a second hobby for me in intermediate and high school, aside from studying. I won first place three years in a row at one point, but then some wise guy came in the fourth year and made idiot of me in the final round. Though I guess it's kinda my fault, too. Anything oral is a challenge for me because I don't like being watched.”

“So you aren't a huge fan of presentations, I'm assuming?”

“Not even a little bit.”

It was Bill's turn to laugh. “Same here, but for a completely different reason. _My_ problem is that I'm not good at talking to people. For some reason I always fuck up and wind up way the wrong things, even if I have notes. But I think that's due to my mouth moving faster than my brain.” He gave Dipper a sideways glance, but his eyes traveled back to staring at nothing within seconds. “I just...I don't really know how to talk about anything.” He rested his chin atop his knees.

“Oh…” Dipper moved his fingers to trace circles on the surface of the notebook as an awkward silence crept it's way between him and his roommate.

Two and a half weeks had passed since the ‘sharing the  bed' incident and, frankly, things couldn't possibly be more uncomfortable. He and Bill had fallen back into phase one, which was constant bickering and apologizing in the same day. On some days they studied and did homework together- like today, for instance- as that was as much they could do without having to wind up screaming in each other's faces.

The weather was a separate problem. With it being only a few days from the first of October, the temperature was dropping steadily, not that Dipper minded. He _loved_ the cold- but, despite this, too much of it was a bad thing. The room's heater hadn't adjusted to the change in season and kicked in yet, plus the fact that no one had come in and changed the blankets...and Bill accidentally broke the lock on the room's window a few days ago. So nights were freezing. Dipper found himself feeling bad for Bill at some point, seeing as the blond's bed was only a few feet away from the window itself, the reason why he would shudder uncontrollably at the incoming autumn winds. On a particularly bad night, his chattering teeth were unbearably audible.

If Dipper was being truthful, the one _good_ outcome of these past two weeks was Bill wearing his glasses on a constant basis. He didn't seem as drained anymore from his terrible depth perception, which was a nice surprise. With not having worn them in so long, Dipper had been worried about whether or not they would work properly at all. But Bill was fine, so it was fine.

“Pine Tree.”

Dipper looked up and over at Bill, who was studying him with those bright, honeycomb eyes. He didn't know how long he'd been lost in thought, but apparently it had been long enough.

“Yeah?” he asked.

Bill rolled his shoulders back and leaned against the headboard. Dipper thought he was going to ask about or for something, based upon his questioning gaze, but the words that left his lips were, “Shoot me some more Protestant Reformation stuff, kid.”

“Okay.” Dipper cracked open the notebook again, deciding it was best not to protest. He leafed through a few of the filled pages carefully, in search of something he hadn't yet asked the other. His touch lingered on the corners of the pages as he turned through.

Secretly, he enjoyed the feel of the paper, the smell of the ink that made up the distorted scrawl on the pages. He didn't know what it was, but he always loved school-related notes, no matter what subject they were related to.

“Come on, kid, I'm waiting.”

“A-Ah, yes. Sorry.” Dipper placed one hand on his chest, clearing his throat, then began to speak in the clearest voice he could muster (lately his voice had been breaking a lot). “So…” Swiftly, he leafed through a page or two more. “Here we go. What was a major issue questioned by clergy during the Reformation?”

Bill actually stopped to consider the answer to this one, his lips pressed into a thin white line. “They were concerned-” He cut short. “No, wait, yeah. Their salvation. They were concerned about their salvation.” He dropped his voice down to a mere whisper. “Religion was a really big thing back then…” He seemed to be speaking more so to himself than to Dipper. Trying to retain information.

Nodding to confirm he was correct, Dipper continued, “Who started the Protestant Reformation in England? You know, when Martin Luther spread his influence.”

“King Henry VII.”

“What about Switzerland?”

“John Calvin.”

“He was Martin Luther’s successor.” Dipper pointed out.

“Uh, Ulrich Zwingli. And, since I know this is what you're going to ask next, Anabaptists started it in Germany. Move on.”

“How did the Church respond to the Reformation?”

Bill scratched one of his ears. “Reforms. It ended the sale of indulgences, but Protestants and Catholics wound up fighting each other over the next one hundred years. Beliefs and such. In 1545 there was the Counter-Reformation, and that was guided by the Council of Trent. Indulgences were strengthened, but they weren't sold.”

“Okay, but seriously. You _know_ all this stuff. You have this test aced.”

“Eh. I _guess._ ”

“You know.”

Bill sighed, defeated. “Alright, alright, fine. That's enough studying this content for today.” He took his notebook from the other male and placed it in his lap. “What do _you_ have?”

Dipper picked up his bag from off the floor and began digging through. “Physics test tomorrow, but I don't think I'll need to study too hard for that, advanced art and writing homework, some computer literacy thing I should get started with on my laptop, miscellaneous others…” He checked his watch. “3:45. I have plenty of time to get all this done.” He slid off his bed so he could grab his laptop from the bedside dresser, then moved back into his spot next to Bill, kicking his bag to the foot of the bed. He pressed the power button to turn the laptop on.

Meanwhile Bill scooted closer to get a better visual of the screen. He smelled like Axe shampoo and conditioner, from having just taken a shower an hour ago, when he arrived at the room from his classes. “Computer literacy? I've never gotten a class like that. Is it, like, computer education or just typing on the computer?”

“A mixture of both? And, besides, I already know how to type properly. It isn't complicated.” As if on cue, the lock screen came up, and Dipper swiftly and neatly typed the password to unlock the laptop and bring him to the home screen, the familiar wallpaper of him and Mabel encaptured in a selfie causing a smile to bloom over his features. Then he remembered Bill was sitting next to him and let it fall away. _No use in getting homesick now._ “Why do you ask?”

He felt the other's hesitation, which was when he turned to face him. “Bill?”

Was Bill...yes, Bill was definitely blushing.

“You don't know how to type, do you?”

Bill picked at the rings of his notebook. “N- Yes. Wait. Maybe. What? I don't know!” He looked exasperated. “What's the right answer?”

Dipper grinned. “You don't know how to type.”

“I don't know how to type.” Bill confirmed, hanging his head low. “At least, not the way you do it, with all the fancy finger action.”

“It's like what I said. It isn- Whoa, _whoa,_ hold on a minute.” The brunet felt a laugh tickle his throat. “So, wait. Fancy finger action? You mean you type like this.” He hit a key with one finger, and another with a finger on his other hand. “When I was in high school, we called that ‘chicken taps.’ My old teachers would have _killed_ me if they caught me typing like that.”

“That sure does make me fucking glad I didn't go to your high school.” Bill grumbled bitterly, his face red and his nose scrunched up in anger. He almost looked...cute. “Listen, are you just gonna make fun of me? ‘Cause I'd love to go back to my side of the room and drown myself in good music.”

“Good music my foot. The music you listen to is _far_ from good.” Dipper replied, whilst grabbing Bill's wrists and pulling them towards the keyboard. “On a serious note, it really isn't hard to do. All it takes is a little bit of practice and _boom._ You'll be doing ‘fancy finger action' in no time. ...Not in a sexual sense, of course.” He gingerly moved Bill's hands around, pressing his fingers into proper typing position. “You see, you hit certain keys with certain fingers, and you use _all_ your fingers- pinky, thumb etc cetera. Just take it into moderation and it's easy.”

Bill hit the _p_ key a few times with the pinky on his right hand. “Pinkies and thumbs technically aren't even fingers," he muttered.

Dipper readjusted the older male when he began to move out of place, then trailed his own hands up to hold him in place by his wrists. “You _do_ realize that I can just not help you? I have homework to do, after all, and I don't plan to stay up until 3 a.m. doing it.”

“You're the one who decided to jump in and be my typing teacher, so don't pin this on me!”

“That's because I'm nice.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

Rolling his eyes, Dipper slowly pulled away from Bill to make sure he could stay in position on his own. He could. But a few fingers on either hand kept twitching, ready to stray. “Honesty, I can't see why you wouldn't know how to do this by now. You're, what, twenty-one? Typing is basically the adult equivalent of breathing, it's such a huge part of everyday life.”

“I didn't take any computer classes when I was in high school. Most of my electives were art related. Fine arts, recycled green arts, photography, ceramics… I've been dead set on becoming a professional artist for quite a few years.”

Dipper shooed Bill away from the keyboard a moment, opening a blank word document before bringing the blond's hands back onto the keys. “It isn't too wise to focus solely on one career, and being a professional artist is a huge one. In case everything doesn't go the way you plan it, it makes a huge difference if you try out a few new things and come up with a backup career or two. As much as I'd hate to say it, not every dream becomes a reality.”

Bill snorted. “Too late to turn around at this point. At my last year of college, I'm gonna have enough debt when I graduate as it is.” Then he sighed. “I wouldn't know what else to do, anyway. Art has always been my thing. I don't know what I'd do without it. Lose my mind? Live in a cardboard box on the streets of this stupid hick town?” He shook his head. “Who am I kidding? I'm so close to hitting rock bottom as it is. When I graduate, what's going to be my next step? I don't even have a place to stay.”

 _How am I supposed to respond to that?_ “Move your left thumb over a little.” _Nice one, Dipper. Nice._

“Oops.” Bill did so.

“Let's start you off with something short and sweet. How about-”

“I'm fucked.”

Dipper flinched. “Uh, no. That's horrible. How about something positive, yeah?” He rubbed his chin in thought. It took a few seconds for an idea to come to him. “I got it. ‘I will be okay.’ Type that.” And, when Bill began to chicken tap, “No. Wrong. Type it the _correct_ way.”

“I hate this.”

“That's the spirit.”

It took Bill about four minutes to type the phrase five times, and he kept falling out of place as he did. Dipper quickly fixed it when that happened, which earned him frustrated grunts, but he ignored it for the most part.

Finally, the younger male settled on saying, “You really don't know how to type, huh?”

“Yes, we've _established_ that!” Bill ground out in reply through gritted teeth. “I get it, okay? I'm not as perfect as everyone thinks I am. Big. Fucking. Shocker. But you don't need to make fun of me for it!” He pried his hands away from the keyboard and away from Dipper's grasp, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have enough bullshit to put up with.”

They both went silent again. Dipper shut down his laptop and placed it back on the dresser. He strung his hands together nervously when the other still didn't leave, at a loss for words.

He'd ruined everything. What a surprise.

However, his mouth managed to move. “Bill.” The word came out as a breath, like it was a part of him. Although the blond didn't say anything to it nor acknowledge that Dipper was speaking, his head perked up ever so slightly, the smallest indication that he was listening. “I...I don't _mean_ to make fun of you. It's just, it's odd. I haven't really met an adult who doesn't know how to type before. There's nothing wrong with it. It's fine.”

Bill shook his head and buried his head in his knees as the younger continued to speak.

“No one said you had to be perfect, either. Nobody's perfect. Not knowing how to type isn't necessarily a mistake.”

Bill muttered something inaudible.

“What?”

“I'm not repeating myself.”

Dipper was beginning to become a little irritated. “Why do you continue to do that?”

“Do _what?_ ”

“That.” The brunet scooted away an inch or so and gestured wildly at Bill's pathetic position. “Acting childish. Not wanting to talk about anything and refusing any assistance or act of kindness given to you. You're a grown man, you know that? I get that your mom died and everything, and that's, like, super depressing, but moping about it constantly isn't going to get you anywhere. Can't you...try to be happy?”

There was a long time when Bill said nothing, and Dipper was afraid he'd messed up again. But Bill lifted his head and whispered, “I don't want to talk about this.”

“But-”

“I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. This.” Bill's voice grew louder with each word, and he fixed his gaze on the other male sometime during his statement, glaring daggers at him with those honey eyes. “So shut up. Please. You didn't even _know_ my mom. You have no right to talk about her.” Dipper could've sworn that he was shaking. “Please, please, _please._ Let's talk about something else. Please.”

“Well, uh…” Dipper leaned forward and grabbed his bag. He gulped, pulling open the zipper and digging through desperately for a distraction. Begrudgingly, he took out his world geography book. “I have homework to do, so I should get that done as soon as I can.”

With that said, he went to work, cracking open the textbook. Professor Ivan had given his class a chapter a read and, once it was finished, instructed that everyone write a reaction paper.

The reaction paper was easy enough, Bill swiftly regaining a good mood and pointing things out as the brunet wrote, helping him come up with the right wording for a few parts. It was finished within twenty minutes, Dipper tearing out the piece of looseleaf paper with the reaction and placing it between two textbook pages.

Then they went on with the next homework assignment. And the next. And the next. At some point in this process, Bill had gotten up and gone to his side of the room to retrieve his own assignments. They both would've been finished with their homework much sooner than they had if it wasn't for them constantly correcting and criticizing each other. Both males seemed to be more so focused and intent on the other's work rather than their own.

It was dark when Dipper threw his bag over the side of the bed tiredly, letting it hit the ground with a low _thud._ Rubbing one of his eyes, he rested his head against the headboard, not bothering to complain when his head hit the metal harder than he wanted it to. He yawned into his hand loudly.

“What time is it?” Bill asked.

Dipper checked his watch. “Almost nine.”

“Night's young. What the fuck are you yawning for?”

“No offense, but I'm not exactly a nocturnal creature. I don't stay up all night partying like some kind of wild animal.” He tugged at his sore fingers as he spoke, sighing in relief whenever it would elicit a pop, the aftermath from writing so much going away. “I don't like parties. Too loud. Too many crazy people. Not enough books to read. Not my place.”

Bill's eyes sparkled with what could only be described as pure mischief. “What's wrong with crazy? I'll have you know that crazy is _great._ Crazy is fun. Sane people, such as yourself, for instance, are so incredibly lame that it's actually disgusting.” It was odd, how only hours ago he had gotten so upset over the mention of his dead mother. And yet now he was acting like everything was alright. “Always trying to insert logic into everything, doing things the way they're expected to-”

“Are you bipolar?” Dipper blurted out, before he could even think twice to stop himself. As soon as the question had escaped, he slapped his hands over his mouth, blushing. “I'm so sorry," he murmured through the gaps in his fingers. “I didn't mean to say that.”

But the blond was surprisingly nonchalant about it. He pushed his glasses back over his nose and picked at the sheets of the bed, a small grin growing over his freckled face. “Nah, it's cool. That's a pretty good question, in all honesty, but the truth is that I don't know the answer. I haven't taken the time to go down to the doctor and get diagnosed, but it's not important. Whether I do have bipolar disorder or not isn't going to make a huge difference in my pointless life.”

His grin widened. “Alright, now I get to ask _you_ a question.” He shot Dipper with a finger gun and winked. “What about you, since we're on the topic of personal questions. Do you have OCD or something?”

Dipper barked out a half-assed laugh. “No. No, I don't. And that is a definite response. Trust me when I say I've been taken down to the doctor on previous occasions to find out the answer to that very question.” Smiling, he admitted, “I'm just neat.”

“Overly neat, if you ask me. Next thing you know you're gonna tell me that your clothes are organized by color, type, fabric, and whatever else is insanely specific.”

“Uh, actually-”

“Don't say it.”

Dipper laughed, this time wholeheartedly. “Okay, okay, okay. Yeesh. Sorry.” Then, looking up and seeing the expression Bill was giving him, he frowned. “What? Is there-” He stopped short when he took notice of what Bill was staring at. _The necklace._

Not sure of what to do, he lifted it up and off his neck and handed it to the older male. “Do you..do you want to have a closer look at it?”

“No, no, it's alright, you can put it on.” But Bill had taken it at this point and was holding it out a few inches in front of himself, allowing the light of the room to capture it. Apparently he wasn't pleased with what he was seeing, because he lowered it with a grimace. Dipper was about to ask what was wrong when he said, “Would you mind turning off the light for me? It looks better when it's captured by natural light.”

Dipper was caught off guard by the request, but he complied, stepping off the side of the bed. He headed to the room's light switch, located near the door, and flicked it down, engulfing the room in darkness. The only source of light was coming from the window, which the brunet came to realize was what Bill had meant by _natural light._ Blindly, he walked back to his bed and when he did, Bill had already been holding out the necklace in the direction of the window.

Bill had been right. The necklace _did_ look beautiful like this. The moonlight seeping into the room made the sapphires on the pine tree charm glitter in a mystifying way, incredibly bright. Blindingly bright. Yet Dipper couldn't seem to peel his eyes away from it.

He was snapped out of his staring only when Bill said, “Come here.” And, not finding any will to argue with or question any of what was happening, he did so, sitting comfortably in his spot next to his roommate, unflinching when the bed creaked in protest under the added weight. He sat in silence, scared that if he said anything the other would grow angry. It remained this way until-

“Do you like it?”

“Huh?” Dipper responded stupidly, not quite comprehending what the other was asking.

Bill lowered the necklace and shifted to face him. “The necklace," he said, gathering the mentioned piece of jewelry into one of his hands, “Do you like it?” He reached over and pressed it into the younger male's palms, which were outstretched unconsciously, waiting for the item to be returned.

“Yes.” A simple answer, given without the tiniest bit of hesitation. And it was immensely honest. “Yes. I love it.” Was it just Dipper, or did Bill's shoulders _relax?_ Had the blond been nervous at how he would respond? “I already told you that already. Seriously. I like the necklace a whole lot. It...it means a lot to me.” He was glad that the room light was off, it was dark, and Bill was preventing the moonlight from landing on him, because his face felt terribly warm.

With shaking hands, he moved the necklace into place around his neck.

“I-I know. I just wanted to make sure.”

Dipper felt his intestines twist themselves into knots. “Why would you want to make sure if you knew already?”

This earned a shrug from Bill. “I don't know. Just for reassurance, I guess.”

 _Reassurance?_ Reassurance for what? Dipper was tempted to ask, but he resisted. For some reason he felt as if he should know the answer to that. And, if he didn't, it was like the answer was right in front of him, obvious and lucid, yet he was too dumb to be able to see it. It was similar to the feeling of someone losing their phone, only to find it in their pocket after tearing their house apart looking for it (except not at all).

Dipper searched Bill's eyes, hoping they would hold _something-_ an explanation, a sign, the smallest hint- but found nothing. It was expectionally hard to see in the darkness of night, was what he decided to blame this result on, redirecting his gaze to his pajama sleeve, which he began to pick nonexistent lint off of. He had this irrational fear that, if he talked, he would say all the wrong things and make Bill upset again. It seemed to be a habit of his at this point.

Time passed, and with that the difficulty it took to breathe became greater- especially after he felt the lightest pressure on his cheek, dangerously close to his lips, warm and soft. His heart leaped and got itself caught in his throat, causing him to choke on air. Eyes sliding shut so he could better embrace the contact, his lids didn't flutter open again until the pressure was gone and hot breath brushed the one side of his face in its place.

“So.” Bill's voice was low and quiet, like he had just run a marathon and was trying to vie for oxygen. He didn't pull away completely, lips at most an inch apart from the other's ear. He didn't say anything else, leaving Dipper hanging on by a single word, his exhales becoming less and less even as minutes ticked by.

Finally, Dipper couldn't take the silence anymore. “So.” It was a while before words could manage to form themselves in his chest. He was vaguely aware of the gears in his head turning, trying to recall upon something- something Pyronica told him?- but it was hard with Bill being so close to him. He lowered his head at an angle and whispered, to regret his choice of words a second after they left his mouth, “You're in my personal space.”

Bill pulled away, leaving nothing but cold air in the space where he used to be.

The younger male clutched at the bed sheets desperately, screwing his eyes shut and trying to regain control of his racing heart, with minimal success. His words slipped out faster than he would have liked them to. “Why? Why do you-”

“Why do I _what_?”

Dipper gulped, but continued between ragged gasps for air, wanting so badly to pulp his blanket over himself and hide from the world.

“Why do you hate her?”

A risky question, logically. Dipper knew the likelihood of it getting him into trouble with his roommate was entirely likely, but he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to know like he needed oxygen to live. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but he wasn't a cat.

“Who the hell are you talking abou-” Bill started, but stopped abruptly, his features contorting in understanding. Dipper could've _sworn_ he had ceased his breathing for a few seconds. “That's none of your damn business.”

“But, really, you're wrong," the brunet replied in his most confident voice, which wasn't much. He shook his head in disagreement. “It _is_ my business if it's affecting you in a negative way. It _is_ my business if you nearly killed her at the party. It _is_ my damn business, okay, if the only two friends I have at this place hate and want to tear each other apart!” He noticed Bill open his mouth to protest and growled, “ _No._ Don't start with the ‘Oooh! We're acquaintances' crap because I'm not taking it anymore! I've literally had it up to here-” He motioned high above his head, as far as his arm would dare to reach. “-with you treating me like I'm not worthy enough to be your roommate. Because, guess what, I'm your fucking dorm roommate, Bill, and you aren't going to be able to get rid of me anytime soon.”

Even with the minimal amount of light coming in through the window, Dipper could see Bill's expression was surprisingly calm- far too calm for a senior after just being screamed at by a freshman.

Then he smiled and said, “You truly are an enigma, Dipper Pines.”

 _Was that supposed to be a compliment?_ “Uh, thanks.”

Chuckling, Bill used his arms to push himself upright, shifting into a pretzel position and placing a hand on either one of his knees. Dipper moved over to give him more elbow- knee?- room, remaining quiet when he spoke again, this time with a sweet sort of serenity.

“June.”

Dipper tilted his head to one side. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused. But, no, seriously. It started off in June.” Bill lifted his head and gazed at the ceiling, pressing on, “The Northwest family had come here, to this town, to visit for some really important photo shoot that Pacifica had.” He silenced, as if waiting for some type of reaction from the other male, which he didn't get. So he fixed his glasses over his eyes and grumbled, “I just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Preston Northwest, Pacifica's father, found me at a bar the night they arrived, and I guess he thought, ‘Oh, this guy is hot! He would be _perfect_ to get into some pictures with my daughter,’ because he took me to the studio, not knowing I was...the tiniest bit foggy.”

Dipper decided to cut in. “How could he not be able to tell? And what were you even doing at a bar?”

“I'm not necessarily like most people when I'm exposed to alcohol. First off, yeah, I act like a nitwit, but it takes a whole lot of of the shit to get me into that, ‘Wah-hoo! Just fuck me up already!’ mood. Secondly, he may or may not have had a shot or two at the counter as well.” The other question seemed to have bothered him. “My birthday's in March. I was twenty-one when this all happened. And what a man does at a bar is his own business.

“Anyway, I don't remember much about what happened at the studio. My memory is pretty hazy, all I can recall is being driven there in fancy limo.” He let out a breath, which was what told Dipper this next part was going to be tough to hear. And, oh boy, it was.

“Next morning, though, I woke up in a bed in the hotel they were staying in.” He shook his head, disconnected. “In _Pacifica's_ room.”

It wasn't even needed for him to say the next part. “In her bed. We were both naked.”

Dipper felt the blood drain from his face and rush down to his feet. “I don-”

“Like I said, I don't remember. But I knew what had happened. I put on my clothes and left the scene before she woke up. I spent the entire day wobbling around and feeling like an idiot, and it got worse, much worse, when I got a call from her dad early afternoon. Fucking _fantastic,_ he'd found an opened condom package on the floor. Being the great listener that he was, he automatically accused me of raping her- which I'm sure I didn't do, believe me. Fortunately, Pacifica stood up for me, taking full responsibility and saying she had been the one who forced _me_ into it.”

“And was she telling the truth?” Dipper questioned, now intent on hearing everything.

“I have no idea.”

“Wait. Pacifica _defended_ you. How could you possibly hate her for tha- _Ow!_ ”

Bill had pinched the younger male's cheek- hard. “That isn't the reason why I hate her, Poindexter. It's the _rest_ of the story that matters the most.” In the monotone way that he said such, it felt as if the sex part meant nothing to him, which, strangely, Dipper found both relieving and disturbing. “ _You're_ the one who asked me to tell you the story, mind you, so be courteous, shut up, and listen.

“It took a few hours of convincing, but her dad decided I was innocent and whatnot and let me go. Good thing, too, because he looked more than ready to get the police involved. I probably would've been dead in that case.”

Picking dirt out of his nails, Bill's features darkened as he went on. “Things were relatively normal for me the next few days. ...Well, if financially struggling to keep my apartment would be considered normal for you. Four, maybe five nights after the incident was when I saw Pacifica again while I was headed to a party with 8 Ball. The last day of classes was only about a week away, so logically there was going to be this huge shindig to celebrate the approaching summer. She said hi and stuff and asked us where we were headed, y'know. I didn't feel secure enough around her to answer because Preston had said he didn't want me around her.

“8 Ball, though, yeesh. I supposed he must've fallen in love with her or something. He told her we were going to a party and asked her if she wanted to tag along. She said yes. The party was only for students, but 8 Ball managed to sneak her into the fraternity house through a side window. I went through the front door like a normal person because I wanted nothing to do with their sneaking around.

“The party wasn't legendary or anything like that. I spent two hours dancing my ass off before I realized I had no idea where 8 Ball and Pacifica were. So, I looked around…” Bill's last word held and died on his lips. Whatever was coming next seemed to be stuck deep inside his throat, but he forced it up and out in a tone that was bitter cruel. “Surprise, surprise, I wind up finding two _very_ familiar people assaulting each other's mouths in a corner.”

The story was gradually making Dipper more and more uncomfortable, so much so that he began to regret asking. As to not be rude, however, he had no choice but to continue to absorb every word. Bill looked to be on a roll with this.

“They were both drunk as fuck. And I was grossed out, at least a little. I dragged 8 Ball's ass home then went back to my place. Next morning I woke, yeah, only to find I had a missed call on my phone. Not to my shock, it was Preston Northwest yet again. This time he decided to accuse me of taking his precious girl to a vulgar party and getting her drunk.” The blond balled his hands into fists. “He wanted to sue, you know. I wouldn't have been able to fucking afford that shit.”

Dipper could _feel_ the anger and sadness radiating off of him. “We...We don't have to talk about this anymore if you don't want-” He began to say, but clamped his mouth shut when Bill cast a glare his way. It read: _Don't interrupt me while I'm talking._

“The dumb bitch didn't stick up for me second time around. All she did was sit back on her rich little ass and let everything that happened happen. I asked Preston not to take it to court and told him of my financial situation. He reluctantly agreed to my plead, but, as he's wealthy and selfish, he still wanted some recompense. He threatened that if I didn't give him a certain amount of money within the next thirty days, he would bring legal matters into the situation.”

“I-Isn’t that illegal?” Dipper squeaked. “How much did he ask you for?”

“Twenty grand.” Bill replied, his tone doleful.

 _Holy crap_ was the first though the younger male had in response to that, his eyes widening. “You didn't actually pay it, did you?”

“What other option did I have? It was either that or get sued for every penny I had.” Bill ran one of his hands down his face and groaned, dislodging his glasses. He quickly put them back into place. “After that, the Northwest family left town. I had to get two jobs in order to get that money back- one at Gravity Stables cleaning horse shit and the other at Susan's place- but it was a failed effort. I lost my apartment in the beginning of August and wound up moving my stuff to Tad's. At the moment, the money I'm getting to pay for this place is in the form of checks ‘so generously' sent over from my dad in London. To hell if he cares about my well-being at all. He'd doing it because he has to, not out of the kindness of his heart.”

Bill stopped speaking then, leaning his face in one hand and staring off into the distance.

Dipper took it as an opportunity to ask, “What about the two jobs you had? Aren't you getting paid at those? If you aren't, which would be dumb, can't you just get another job somewhere to get some cash?” Bill looked over at him weakly. “Uh, what about the Mystery Shack? I'm sure Stan would be glad to have some extra help around the place. If you told him and Ford that you know me, they would definitely give you-”

“It isn't as simple as that," the older male cut in. It hadn't occurred to Dipper how tired he looked until now. “I _suck_ at any job I get. Literally. I got fired from the horse stables because I kept scooping poop on other people, and Susan's because I started one or two or ten fires. I'd wind up messing up at the Shack, too. But I'll try to take that offer into consideration, if it makes you happy.” He frowned. “It’s funny. I didn't even know Pacifica had chosen to come to college here until I saw her with you at the party. That's maybe why I got so angry.”

Dipper didn't say anything and he tacked on, “But I have an American Dream, too. Become well-known for my art and get a place with the money, but I can only do _that_ if I can graduate from this fucking place. Artists who don't have degrees beforehand tend to not be as successful as those who do, statistically, and I'm not willing to take risks anymore.”

“Well.” Once the word had slipped out, Dipper had no idea what to say. _Come on, just… don't say anything stupid. Say the right thing._ He swallowed dryly, Adam's apple bobbing painfully in his throat. “I...I think you can do it. I mean, you have one more year left of college, and we're a month into it. You'll have a place in no time.” He tried to sound confident, but it was hard with his voice cracking constantly between syllables. “Also, you have me if you need any help with your work, so…”

The blond smiled, which _would've_ been nice if it hadn't seemed so forced. “Who knows. Probably.” He leaned in close, in an almost dubious manner, and pressed another kiss to Dipper's cheek before sliding out of the bed. “Thanks for the study session and all that, I guess.” His tone had returned to normal, bored, uninterested, and mildly sarcastic at spots. “Same time tomorrow?” He cast Dipper a questioning glance at the last statement. Asking.

Some seconds passed. Then the younger male nodded. “Oh. Y-Yeah. Totally. Same time tomorrow for sure.”

Bill nodded. “Sweet.” His cocky grin made its appearance. “Also, I'm brushing my teeth first tonight.” With that said, he headed to the bathroom, turning on the light and closing the door roughly on his way in. Soon came the distant sound of running water from inside.

Figuring he had a few minutes to get dressed before Bill came out of the bathroom, Dipper made for his bedside dresser and picked out a blue T-shirt and striped cotton pants for pajamas. He removed his day clothes and slid into those, silently enjoying the soft fabric on his skin.

He'd been pulling on the shirt when the bathroom door opened dramatically and Bill sauntered out.

“We're running low on mint tooth paste," the blond complained, stalking across the room and slumping down on the side of his bed.

Dipper wiped at the wrinkles on the shirt. “Alright. I'll go to the store and get more on my way back from classes tomorrow.” He stood and made his way to the bathroom, stopping and turning to look at Bill. The older male was pulling on a pair of socks over the ones he already had on his feet.

“Fucking cold as shit," he grumbled, before Dipper could ask what he was doing. “A single pair isn't good enough. It feels like you could tear my toes right off my feet. I have no idea how we're going to survive when winter comes, we already have below average temperatures.”

Dipper stifled a smart remark. “We hope someone comes in with warmer blankets?” He suggested, still in midstep.

“I'm tempted to go out and buy my own at this point.” Bill grumbled, rolling over onto his bed and covering himself with his not so warm blankets, head and all. His form shook rapidly as he shivered but, aside from that, he seemed perfectly fine for just talking about his sad past with snooty rich people.

 _Probably best to leave him alone,_ Dipper thought, shooting Bill a quick wave (even though the blond wouldn't have been able to see him) and pressed on towards the bathroom.

He brushed his teeth in two and a half minutes, as per usual, and exited, shutting off the bathroom light on his way out. With it being dark, he made his way blindly to his side of the room and practically threw himself onto his bed, collapsing with exhaustion. He hadn't the faintest idea why he was so tired.

Reaching lazily for his pillow, he grabbed ahold of it and pulled it in close, resting his chin on it and allowing his mind to drift off into a million thoughts at once.

The whole problem with Bill and Pacifica was the single thought that stood out to him the most. It was actually _worse_ than Dipper had initially thought it would be, if he was being honest with himself. To make it worse, the problem didn't seem to be fixable on his part, so there wasn't anything he could possibly do about it. This was something that Bill and Pacifica had to handle by themselves.

Dipper shuddered a little. But whether it was from the cold or the dreadful thought that he couldn't magically disappear was unbeknownst to him. Maybe it was from both.

He was tempted to grab his blanket and curl up into a feeble ball underneath it, but resisted. The stupid thing wouldn't help him feel much warmer than he was now. Moving to bury his face completely into his pillow, he let out a small noise to express his wavering frustration. Falling asleep tonight was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done.

As if to prove that statement right, a gust of wind blew in through the window and traveled across the room, sending another shudder throughout his body.

 _Ugh._ He pushed himself up by his elbows with a short grunt, reluctantly facing Bill's side of the room. Even in the darkness, he could clearly see that the blond was shivering still.

 _Wait...lightbulb._ Dipper grimaced at his own idea. _Very bad lightbulb._

He got out of his bed and walked over to Bill's side of the room despite him mentally screaming not to. Leaning over, he reached out with one of his hands to shake the blond awake…

“What do you want, kid?”

He jumped back, jerking his arm away and holding it protectively to his chest, like a shark had just tried to snap at it. He'd had no idea that Bill was already up. “I-I'm sorry. I didn’t-”

Bill rolled onto his other side so he could look at the younger male. Because his bed was right by the window, the moonlight reflected on him, capturing him in its light. It made his golden hair turn silver and his eyes glow in an ominously demonic way. He narrowed his eyes- however, Dipper knew it was only his way of trying to see better without his glasses.

“Want do you want, kid?” he repeated.

Too late, Dipper realized he was caught without a plan. He hadn't even come up with what to say. “Well, I..uh…” Not wanting to meet Bill's gaze, he focused in on a spot just above the blond's eyes. “There was, uh, a-”

“There was a…?”

“There was a spider in my bed.” Dipper lied weakly, rubbing one of his arms in discomfort. “I mean, _in_ my bed. As in, currently. Yeah.”

“A spider, huh?” Using his elbows for support, Bill sat up. “Want me to go over and kill it for you?”

Dipper held out his hands. “N-No, it's not, like, y'know, uh…” He lowered his sweaty palms and wiped them against his pants. “It's a pretty big spider, y'know. It's really hairy, too. And I...yeah.” _Crapcrapcrapcrap. Fucking crap._

“Big spider. With hair.” Bill echoed. His expression was puzzled. Then it changed. A confident smirk grew and split his features. “Ah, I see. Hm.” The younger male could've sworn he was laughing.

“Uh, yeah. So-”

“Pine Tree. Has anyone ever told you that you are a _terrible_ liar?”

Dipper cast his head down. “Yes," he whispered.

The blond wagged a finger at him teasingly. “Shame on you, kid, for lying to my face. You should know better. But I'll give you a few points for trying, even if it _was_ a pathetic attempt.” He scooted aside and patted the free space he made on the mattress. “Now get in before I change my mind.”

Admittedly, Dipper had been thrown off by the last part. Raking his fingers through his brunet curls carefully, he barely managed to stop himself from gulping. “Are you serious?”

“Damn right I am.” Bill's grin fell away, replaced by a scowl. “You in or not? I have a test on the Protestant Reformation tomorrow and I need my beauty sleep, so shut up and make up your mind so I can rest.”

The brunet let out a puff of air, ignoring the blast of excitement that shot throughout his being. “A-Alright," he said, moving into Bill's bed and lying down, resting the back of his head on one of the soft pillows. “...Alright.”

The mattress creaked loudly when Bill eased himself down as well. “Pass some of the blanket over, kid.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Dipper obliged.

“Move over onto your side, too. I'm gonna fall off the edge of this fucking bed.”

Again, Dipper obeyed, settling on facing Bill, who was watching him with something along the lines of fascination. Though he didn't realize it.

“D-Did I do something wrong?”

Bill wrinkled his nose. “What? No, no, of course not. You didn't do anything wrong. Why would you think that you did something wrong?” He sounded overly defensive.

“I don't know. You keep staring at me, so I assumed.”

“You worry way too much.” Bill stated in a matter-of-fact tone, wiggling his hips in a way so he could come closer to the other. He wrapped his slender arms around the freshman's waist, bringing their bodies flush together.

Nervously laughing, Dipper returned the gesture by wrapping his own arms around Bill's neck. “This is awkward," he said, very quietly. Not knowing what else to do, he allowed their legs to tangle, blushing. It wasn't bad.

“Go to sleep.” Bill demanded, resting his chin on Dipper's head. “Did I forget to mention that I had a Protestant Reformation test?”


	16. Love is Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The majority of this chapter is unsettling.
> 
> Warnings: past child abuse, suicide attempt

_William wasn't a huge fan of the color green, and he had a plethora of reasons as to why this was. It felt so gross to him, in most cases, and it was usually reminded him of bad things- how his face appeared after those long, agonizing car trips with his mom, guidance counselor slips he received whenever he cried during those sad movies he watched in class, Lima beans, most vegetables in general, broccoli without any ranch dressing, and the like. In fact, the only times he would find the color pleasurable to his eyes was on money and grass, and maybe another case or two on top of that. Money and grass smelled really good. Especially grass when it was freshly cut. Mmm._

_Unfortunately for him, the color was a bad thing today. No, it was worse than bad. It was horrific. Pure_ evil. _Broccoli without ranch dressing bad, but 100X more. Today the color made him want to crawl under his bed and come out once the zombie apocalypse started and he could get get eaten and die (admittedly, it seemed like a bit much), or something like that._

_And it was because of the birthday card on his nightstand._

_Well, his sour mood wasn't because of the card_ itself. _More so, it was due to the ink._

_Such an ugly shade of the color. Who even owned a pen with green ink these days?_

_His father, apparently._

_If he was truly honest, he wouldn't have minded the card or the ink if it had been from anyone else. But his_ father? _His_ father _sending him a nice thing for his birthday for the first time ever? Unfathomable. Impossible. Unspeakable. This must have had to be some kind of sick joke._

_The card was simple- it was one of the cheesy birthday cards a person could buy for fifty cents on their way out the grocery store. It had a terribly drawn boy in a pointy birthday hat holding a cupcake, the words, ‘It's your birthday, son!’ above it. When opened, on the inside, in the fancy pre-typed text, it said ‘Wishing the best not only on your birthday, but everyday.’_

_William cringed upon reading it for the umpteenth time. Yes. This_ had _to be a joke, right? When had his father ever wished him the best on anything?_

_Oh, but that wasn't the worst part. That special honor was awarded to what was written under those creepily kind words in the ugly green ink, taunting him. ‘See you on your birthday, William. -Dad'_

_William couldn't begin to describe the amount of fear he felt when he had first read the card, when it had arrived in the mail a few days prior to today. He'd immediately buried it under a pile of papers on his nightstand, to find it just now after looking through in search of a missing math packet._

_A shiver shot up his spine, causing him to shake. What day was it? The day before his birthday, right? That meant tomorrow… He didn't want to think about it. It was going to be the worst birthday ever, though, that was for sure._

_To make matters more terrible, his mom didn't seem to be doing anything about it. Whenever he asked her to call his dad and tell him not to come, she would disregard the request and and respond with something like “This is a possible bonding opportunity for you two!” or “He's having a change of heart, my love. I know he's let us down in the past, but everyone deserves a second chance.” But they both knew she was saying that to stay positive. None of her suggestions could possibly come out of this._

_Why would his dad visit, to begin with? Why would he_ want _to visit? He'd made it crystal clear in the past that he wanted nothing to do with William, on plenty of occasions. He didn't need to fly all the way to America just to show his son how much he hated him in_ person.

_“Sweetie?”_

_Spinning around, William came face-to-face with his mother, who had entered his room uninvited. Well, more like face-to-stomach, because she was still way taller than him._

_He lifted his chin so he could look into her intelligent, warm eyes. She was watching him with a raised brow._

_Realizing his hands were remaining closed tight on the card, the boy quickly hid it behind his back despite knowing that his mom had already seen it. She always saw everything._

_She didn't bring the cursed card into mention on the spot, much to his surprise, instead saying, “Your lunch is sitting on the kitchen table, my love.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Mac and cheese.”_

_William wrinkled his nose. “It isn't that Kraft garbage, is it?”_

_“How cheap do you think I am, kid? Of course it isn't! This is my homemade specialty. “ As she spoke her eyes traveled the room. She placed a hand on one her hips and leaned slightly towards that side. “Wow, your room is a pigsty.”_

_“Sorry, Mom. I've been...uh, looking around. I can clean it up now if you want me to.”_

_“Nah. It's fine. You can do it later. But get all your stuff together before it's time to go to bed, alright?” At this, his mom leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head._

_Standing straight again, she cracked her back. “Knowing your father, he'll send you to heck and back for a messy room. He likes things a certain way, you know._  "

 _“_ His _way.”_

_“Mhm. Indeed.” William's mother pursed her lips in thought, running one of her hands absently through her son's golden hair. Then, after a silent and comfortable moment, she lowered her head to tickle him playfully underneath his chin. She smiled widely at the smile she received from the boy. “So ticklish. So cute. So strong. So much like your grandfather.”_

_William, giggling uncontrollably, took a small step backwards in order to flee from the attention his mother was giving him, keeping the card held firmly behind his back. He smiled as well, large eyes glittering. “If I'm_ so _much like Grandpa, do you think I'll grow up, fall in love, and die happy at an old age like he did?”_

 _His mom made a pssh sound and crossed her arms over her chest. “Silly child. I don't_ think _you will. I_ know _you will. I can feel it in my gut. It's a gut feeling. I've had it since I first held you in my arms, when you were born.”_

_“Mother's intuition?” William asked. He knew the answer. They'd had this same conversation thousands of times before._

_“Heck yeah!” The woman laughed easily, her hair bouncing on her shoulders. She always looked younger when she laughed like this, as if a ton of strain was taken away temporarily in these happy moments. “I swear, William, sometimes you are just too much for me to handle.”_

_Her expression became serious, and William feared something was wrong, but he let his worries wash away when she poked his chest roughly and said, “I get a front row seat at your wedding, mister. Do you hear me? I'd freak out if I couldn't be as close to you as possible on the greatest day of your life. I want to able to drink in your ecstatic expression, along with that of your future beloved's, and when the prime minister says those important words. ‘You may now kiss the-'”_

_Not able to help it, William burst into a laughing fit. “_ Ew! _Kissing is gross, Mom!”_

 _His mother looked offended. “Excuse me, kid, but I kiss you all the time. Do you think me kissing you is_ gross? _” She kept pausing dramatically and grinning, showing that she was merely kidding. “Because, you know, I can stop giving you my very special, very loving mom kisses.”_

 _“Well, it's okay when_ you _kiss me, ‘cuz you're my mom. Moms are supposed to kiss their kids.”_ And dads… _He thought on, an all too familiar ache forming in his chest. Not for the first time, he wished he could be part of a nuclear family like normal people._

_Sighing, he pulled out the birthday card from its hiding spot behind his back and frowned. His mom, noticing his sudden sadness, got down onto her knees so she could meet his eyes at an even level. “This doesn't even have any money in it. What kind of person gets someone a card for their birthday and doesn't put money in it? It's like giving someone an empty game console box.”_

_He felt a hand place itself on his shoulder in reassurance. “I can probably see why. Your father had to mail that from England, my sweet, and there they use different currency than we do. The chance of him having United States cash would be quite unlikely.”_

_“Yeah. I guess.”_

_“Who knows? Maybe he'll have an extra nice present for you when he gets here.” The uncertainty in that statement didn't make anything better._

_But staying optimistic was the one thing William had to hold on by. “A telescope?!” He instantly brightened at the idea. “That would be so awesome! I could draw out the stars and constellations in my sketchbook and look at the planets close up! Maybe I could draw those, too!” He tugged on the hem of his mom's shirt carefully, so he wouldn't choke her. “The kids at school would be jealous! And_ Veronica _would-”_

_“Want to set it on fire," his mother pointed out blandly, her gaze distant. “That girl and her obsession with fire… Eep.” She removed the birthday card out of small hands and placed it into her own, opening it and reading the words in green ink. Her jaw tightened. “William, I want you to be careful when he comes tomorrow. I don't know if he's going to do anything to hurt you.”_

_“I'll be alright, Mom.” William assured her. “I can take care of myself. And, besides, I can just have Veronica set his clothes on fire if he does anything suspicious. She usually carries a spare lighter in case of emergencies.”_

_His mother's features hardened. “I'm being serious, William. You don't know that man as much as I do. He's a con artist. He butters you up and acts all nice and sweet in order to gain your trust, and when you least expect it… That's it. It's over. You lose what matters to you the most.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “And, for me, that's you. So be careful.”_

_“Seriously, Mom. I'll be alright. You don't have to worry about a thing.” Though he said this, when he pulled out of his mom's wonderful embrace, he had a horrible tug on his intestines._

_He didn't want to admit it, but she was right. His father was going to do something crazy._

_It was a gut feeling._

_But he ignored it, for the most part, and proceed with his day as he normally would._

_And the next thing he knew, he was waking up on the morning of his birthday._

_His mother sat in the chair next to his bed, holding a glass plate that contained scrambled eggs and bacon. She had a huge, friendly grin on her face._

_“Happy birthday, my love!” she cheered, gesturing for him to sit up, which he did, albeit sleepily. Placing the plate in his lap and handing him a fork, she added, “You don't need to worry about setting any of the food out. I did it before making you breakfast, and, what's more-” She poked her son on the nose. “-I made you and extra big, extra special cake after you went to sleep last night. You're going to love it, I promise.”_

_William had been devouring his eggs while she was speaking, nodding every few seconds to confirm that he was listening. Through a mouthful of yellow, he mumbled, “You'd better give me a huge slice.”_

_“On the life of me, I swear," his mother replied, reaching over and running her hands into his mess of locks. “Jeez, kid, it feels like you haven't washed your hair in eleven years.”_

_“But I just turned eleven today!” the boy protested, nearly choking. He put down the fork and brought a fist to his chest, punching until the food found its way down. Then he continued to work down more eggs as if nothing had happened._

_“Maybe I should've gotten you a new brush as a present. The bristles on the one you have_ are _kind of dull.”_

_“Noooo! A brush is a terrible gift.”_

_This earned him a snort. “I supposed you're glad I didn't get you one, in that case.” The gentle fingers left the boy's hair, and his mom said, “You should go take a shower before the guests start to arrive.”_

_William opened his mouth to protest, but upon seeing his mother's very serious expression, held back his complaint, instead shoving a strip of bacon into his mouth. “After I'm finished with my food," he said, juicy bits of the edible goodness leaving his lips during his statement._

_“Obviously. Unless you want to eat in the shower.”_

_“Gross."_

_His mother smiled and gave him one last pat on the head, rising from the chair she had been sitting in with finesse. Gingerly, she wiped dust off her shirt. “And bring your clothes with you when you head into the bathroom so you can get dressed in there. Remember the last time you got the carpet wet?”_

_“But what if I dry my feet really well-”_

_A glare._

_“Okay, Mom," he amended, averting eye contact and gathering more scrambled eggs onto his fork, forcing them down his throat. His mom left the room at that, seeming satisfied with his compliance. This gave him time to finish his birthday breakfast in private._

_When he was done, he placed the plate and fork on the nightstand, assuming his mom would get it later, and picked out his clothes- his favorite yellow shirt and jeans. After that he grabbed his towel, which was hanging off the door, and made his way to the bathroom. He closed and locked the door once he was inside._

_When it came down to preference, he enjoyed hot showers. The cold was terrible to him and warm never seemed to be good enough. If having infinite, never ending summer was an option, he would go for it in a heartbeat._

_He was stepping out of the shower, fresh and clean, when he heard the apartment door open and close. Being the kind person that she was, his mom went to greet the visitor. William hoped it was Veronica or Tad._

_But her reaction was enough to tell him that it wasn't neither of them. “Hel- Oh. H-Hi.” She suddenly sounded nervous. “W-Why don't you take off your coat and- Throw it on the couch. Yeah, yeah, that's fine. Nice. Looks kinda good there, actually.”_

_“Where's the boy?” The voice from which the question had originated was none like William had heard ever in his life. Deep and gruff with not a smidgen of kindness, like that of a heavy smoker's, but also professional, with the undertones that made you feel as if you could trust this man to hold onto your business portfolio._

_William had ever only heard this voice over the phone, late at night, when his mother would be upset the most, arguing over finances._

Dad. _His dad was_ here. _He was...early._

_Too early. William gulped as he slid on his yellow shirt. Hopefully it would bring him good luck today and nothing would go wrong._

_The exact opposite happened._

_He could sense his mom's flinch from all the way over here, inside the bathroom. “The boy? You mean William. Well, he just took a shower. He's probably getting dressed right now, so you should give him a few minutes.” She knew him so well._

_“Ah, I see. Well, that's-” His dad cut short. There was the brief shuffling of clothing. He was probably patting himself down. “Shit. I forgot my keys in my car. That's an open target for thieves.”_

_“Oh. That's unfortunate.” His mother spoke slowly, her way of trying not to say the wrong thing. “You should go down and get the-”_

_“Are you telling me what to do, woman?”_

_William froze in place. Now that,_ that _kind of thing was exactly what he_ didn't _want to happen. Though he couldn't see his dad, he could_ hear _the disgusted expression in his tone._

 _“Because the last time I checked, you aren't supposed to tell me what to do. Even if we_ are _no longer married, you're still mine. You have no authority over me.”_

No, no, nononono. Mom… _William ran up hurriedly to the bathroom door and pressed his palms onto the wooden surface. He so badly wanted to burst out and help his mom, but he was aware it would make things worse. She'd taught him that it was best for people to fight their own battles._

_In this moment, he wasn't too sure this advice was the best._

_“I-I'm sorry," his mom stammered. Never before had William heard her like this. “What should I-”_

_“Go get them for me.”_

_“Go...get...them.”_

_“My keys, you bitch!” his dad shouted, making William want to punch him in his stupid face. “Go and get my keys! Don't come back until you have them.”_

_“O-Oh. Yes, of course.” His mom sounded reluctant, but she, unfortunately, obeyed. There were the sound of footsteps and, in a few seconds, the apartment door closing._

_Then came the silence._

_William waited one minute._

_Two minutes…_

_Footsteps, heavier than those of his mother's, approached the bathroom before stopping short. William pulled his palms away from the door and took a few steps backwards, his small body quivering with fear._ Please leave. _He willed mentally._ Please leave and never return.

_“My son.” His father's voice boomed agonizingly loud, rattling his bones. Normally being referred to like that would be loving and welcoming and would fill someone with warmth. But it wasn't, and it didn't make William feel warm at all. It was cold and menacing sounding. His dad might as well have said, “You're useless and I want nothing more to do with you.” Not that it would have been a new thing to hear._

_“Open this door, boy.”_

_Slowly, William gathered enough willpower to step forward again, placing his hand on the knob of the door but not turning it. The only plan he could possibly come up with to escape this was to crawl out the bathroom (but that, in the end, was fatal, seeing his apartment was on the fifth floor of the building)._

_“What if I don't?” he asked._

_“If you don't… In terms a small minded brat like you would understand, you won't very well enjoy having a perfectly good door being ripped off it's hinges, would you?"_

_Gulping, William obliged to his father's demand and turned the knob, immediately shrinking away as his father entered._

_The boy had only ever seen his father in old pictures, but he looked much more handsome and younger in them than he did in real life. His dark hair was swept to one side in a painfully disgusting comb over, and his facial features were twisted into a permanent scowl, his brows furry and angry and his nose impossibly pointed. His mouth was turned down slightly at one side, as if he were half-frowning. He was tall, sure, and relatively beefy, his muscles visible through the tuxedo he was currently adorning. But his_ hands, _they were what caught William off guard the most. They seemed unusually large for him, and his fingers were thick and wrinkled- literal chicken fingers._

_And, much to William's distaste, he was twirling a ring of keys in one of his fat index fingers._

_William had no idea how his mother had ever loved this man. He was a jerk and a liar._

_“So_ you're _my kid, huh?” The tone in which this was stated made William actually want to go through with the window plan. “Haven't seen you since you were small… And you turned out like_ this. _” Apparently that was a bad thing. “You don't look anything like me! What the hell?”_

 _“M-Mom says I look like Grandpa._  

 _The ugly man narrowed his ugly eyes, resulting him to become even more ugly. Impossibly ugly. Just like the green ink on the birthday card. “You must be talking about that lady's dad. Yes, I remember him. He kept going on and on about how I wasn't_ good _enough for her. Why, if that dumb bastard weren't dead, I would-”_

_“Why are you here?"_

_A grin etched over the side of his lips that wasn't frozen into a frown, making him look almost two-faced. “You're not completely stupid. That's good.” He raised his voice, “However. If you must know-” A step forward. “-I flew here-” Another step. “-All the way from England-” Oh God, a third step. “-to-"_

_He stopped in front of his son, placing his fat fingers on his knees and leaning down to meet wide, golden eyes that sparkled with fear. “-see my little boy, of course!” He broke out into a hearty laugh, but there was something about it that made William feel as if he might as well been scowling again. “When I requested to come, I simply couldn't take ‘no' as an answer! Literally. I just_ had _to be with you on the day you turned ten.”_

_“Eleven.”_

_“Same thing.”_

_William wasn't going to let himself buy anything this old jerk was selling. Not after his mom told him not to trust this guy. “Well, how come you've never taken the time out of your life to visit before? Why can't you support mom and me? We could use the mon-”_

_“Oh, my boy, you see, the thing is; the problem_ is _support. Child support, to be specific. I hate it. They keep taking money out of_ my _paycheck to pay for_ you. _” A thick finger poked painfully into William's chest. “I don't really like it being that way, if you ask me. That little amount of money adds up, you see, and as such it should go to_ me. _I mean, I never even_ wanted _you to exist. I just wanted to fuck the brains out of a bitch, ya feel me?”_

 _“You have no right to talk about my mother that way!” William snapped, clenching his hands into angry fists. “She_ loved _you. And- And… if you didn't want me, well…” He tried to remember something he briefly heard whispers about from the other kids at school. What was that thing called? “...maybe you should have used a condom!”_

_In an instant, without giving the proper time to react or respond, his feet were no longer planted onto the ground and a hand was hoisting him up by the hem of his shirt. Once again, he was at his father's eye level, though it wasn't a level he wasn't comfortable with._

_And the guy didn't look happy._

_“You don't know what you're talking about, boy!” his father growled. “Who the hell do you think you are?”_

_“Uh, your son?” William offered._

_He began to kick widely when the beefy hand on his shirt moved to grasp him by his throat instead. It took a while, but he managed to force out, “When_ I _grow up,_ I'm _going to be a_ good _husband, unlike you!_ I'm _going to treat my spouse with love and respect, and I-I-I'm g-gon-na...aaa…” Suddenly the pressure around his throat became too much, and he stopped speaking in order to gasp for air. “Ack.”_

_His father frowned deeply, his features drooping greatly. “What kind of cheesy bullshit has your mother been planting in that thick skull of yours, boy? Happy endings, true love… Bah! None of that is real. Crap like that exists only in fairy tales.”_

_“P-Ple-eeas-ee...s-st-st-o-o-”_

_“And, furthermore, you aren't going to find or fall in love with_ anyone, _because who could possibly love_ you? _”_

 _William screwed his eyes shut._ At least I'm never going to be like you,  _h_ _e thought, repeating the statement over and over in his mind. He didn't open his eyes until he realized that he was being moved. With stars dancing in his vision from the lack of oxygen going to his lungs, it took him a few seconds to clearly see where his dad had walked._

_Using the hand that wasn't brutally choking his son, Ugly Combover Guy turned on the cold water in the tub and fit the stopper into the drain in one quick movement._

_William thrashed with all the strength in his being, to no avail. “N-N-N-ooo-o d-d-d-”_

_But he couldn't strangle out the rest of his statement, as he was suddenly dumped face-first into the freezing water._

_Unfortunately, his first instinct was to cry out in protest, which caused the water to come in through his mouth. He gasped at this, another mistake, and started to thrash wildly, his third mistake. He kicked erratically and waved his arms, splashing noises accompanying his movements, and earned a grunt of effort from his father. Eventually his head managed to break the surface, and he sucked in desperately needed air._

_His dad wouldn't allow that. “Little shit," he mumbled, the meaty paw tightening around the boy's throat as he pushed him back under again. The thrashing and choked drowning gurgles persisted. “I never asked for you. I never wanted you. I_ told _your mother to schedule an abortion, but she didn't listen. She_ never _listened to me when it came to you.”_

_William's movements lessened as the man went on, his voice growing more and more angered by the second._

_“Look at you. You look nothing like me. You look nothing like your mother. No, you're the fucking replica of that damned old grandfather of yours. I never liked that happy-go-lucky fool.”_

_Though he didn't remember much of what happened next, William recalled his eyes rolling over from the lack of oxygen and his vision growing black. Then, at some point, when he had felt completely cold and drained of all his energy, someone else entered the bathroom. There was something akin to the sound of his mother screaming and yelling, which was accompanied by the hand around his throat leaving and being replaced with a smaller hand that went into his hair and tugged him out of the water desperately. Finally, arms wrapped around his waist and he was pulled into a warm, dry body. It was at this time he sobbed, leaning into the kind embrace and inhaling the familiar scent of his mother's strawberry perfume._

_He was sure his mother had whispered something reassuring into his ear, either about not letting his father taking advantage of them anymore or her taking him to the room to put on dry clothes. Maybe both._

_But none of that mattered because he was too tired and upset to even eat a slice of his mother's delicious cake._

* * *

 

The library was very much alike to a second home for Dipper. After all, how could he be able to find a place more perfect? With so many varieties of books in a single place, he never wanted to leave. In fact, when he died and became a ghost, he wanted to haunt a library.

He respected the size of the one at the college. It was fifteen times the size of his room back in California, so big that he saw it as very possible for someone to be able to get lost- and he wouldn't have been surprised if someone  told him that they actually had. All the books were neatly organized in categories depending on their genres, as to be expected, the fiction section being the largest and the references section being the smallest. Basically like how it was in most libraries.

Today Dipper found himself digging through some fiction novels, especially the recent arrivals, which rested safely on some of the higher shelves. One thing he liked about his library in specific was how it was kept up to date with newer books, but also managed to have older ones that would be hard to find in a regular old book store. Not to mention that students were permitted to check out up to five books at a single time, a relatively high number for Dipper, who had only been allowed three books in his high school. Here, they were due back after fifteen _school_ days, meaning that weekends, holiday breaks, and days when classes were called off didn't count- a bonus. _And_ the late fee was a nickel per school day after the day it was due.

He could get used to this place.

Of course, he didn't have anything against the romance novels Mabel had given him to read. It was just, as he thought about it, he'd rather not allow himself to become invested in something like that. _Especially_ not with Bill being in the room to laugh and make fun of him for reading them. So he figured it would be better to grab an action novel or two, really anything he could read that wasn't completely and utterly fueled by cheese.

Okay, so admittedly he may or may not have come to the library solely because he wanted to find a good book (but that was the main reason). There _might've_ been an astronomically slim chance that he also had to get out of the dorm room and as far away from Bill as possible. But, then again, Bill seemed to want him gone, too, seeing as he had been the one to kick Dipper out in the first place 

And yes, Dipper may have felt dejected about the situation, but it wasn't as if it even mattered. Bill didn't care about how _he_ felt about anything. In all honesty, Bill didn't care about how _anyone_ felt about anything.

Sighing, the brunet removed a book from a shelf, looked at the front cover and turned it over to read the short story description on the back cover, then balanced it in one hand to judge its weight. As a final step, he opened it and flipped through the pages to judge the sizes of the words. Eventually deciding that it wasn't long or advanced enough for his taste, he placed it into its proper place and continued searching, doing a quick run over with his eyes to see if anything in specific were to catch his attention.

He never understood the phrase _Don't judge a book by it's cover._ Wasn't that supposed to be the _point_ of covers? To be judged? Unless a person had enough free time on their hands to stop right there and read the whole thing, how else were they going to decide whether they liked it or not?

But that wasn't an important thought… for the time being, anyway. What his mind kept drifting back to, all in all, was what had happened that morning- when Bill so rudely decided to kick him out of the dorm room.

Today was Saturday. No one had classes (with the rare exception of those who were being forced to go by their professors as payback for misbehaving or letting their grades drop. Though, weren't the professors also sort of punishing _themselves_ by doing that?) and Dipper still didn't know his way around the town too well, so his best option was to go to the library. Despite getting raised eyebrows and being asked why on Earth he would want to be here on a weekend, it wasn't hard to get in. And it wasn't that he had a problem with being here, either, but… why?

 _Why_ would Bill want him gone so badly? It didn't make sense. They'd been getting along perfectly fine these last few weeks, without a single dispute or argument. They'd been _sharing the same bed_ every night, for crying out loud. Heck, Bill had even gone as far as to start referring to Dipper as a _friend_ at some point.

Nope. It didn't - make - any - sense. Not even the tiniest _smidgen_ of sense. And it was frustrating. Questioning it probably wasn't the best idea, though, knowing very well how defensive Bill got whenever he was asked about anything personal.

But he already told Dipper plenty about his past already- and, okay, yes, the brunet was smart enough to understand that most of what he'd been told was pretty fucked up and hard to hear. He couldn't _begin_ to imagine how Bill must feel having lived through all of it in the first place, much less having the ability to gain enough courage to talk about it afterwards. A lot of it involved things that no living human being should have to be trialed with.

Dipper would have been dubious to admit it out loud, but Bill was a super strong person for being able to make it this far, to a point where he _could_ talk about it.

Dipper _also_ would've hated to admit that he had heard the crying last night. It was impossible not to, seeing as they slept packed so close together for warmth.

It was some time during the middle of the night when Dipper had been awoken to strong arms tightening around his waist and the sound of faint whimpering in his ear. Bill was fast asleep, he knew, but had begun to start speaking anyway, and the things he said were unsettling and sent unpleasant shocks straight up to the younger male's head, making him feel lightheaded.

_“Disappointment…”_

_“Nothing like you…”_

_“Shouldn't exist…”_

At that time, Dipper wanted so desperately to believe that Bill wasn't talking about himself, but he couldn't. So he responded to these negative statements by whispering “You're wrong,” over and over, his voice so small that he could barely hear his own words.

Although the blond had been sleeping, he shook his head and returned the statement to Dipper- telling him that _he_ was wrong.

Then he hitched a breath and said the word _Cold_ so quietly and so sadly that it made the freshman's temperature drop at least twenty degrees despite them being cuddled up together.

Dipper wasn't sure what the word was supposed to mean, or what it had to do with all the depressing things Bill had been saying prior, but he didn't want to wake him up to ask.

And, with that, Bill had gone silent again. Dipper managed to drift off into sleep again after that, his tiredness working against the horrible ache in his chest.

The morning fared no better, obviously. He had woken up before Bill and gotten out of bed, taking a quick cold shower to rid himself of the awkward wood (which had become a normal thing since they started to share beds, because that was _totally_ a normal thing to happen when two guys slept together. Or, at least, that was what Bill had said after the first few nights, anyway). It was when he had exited the bathroom that he saw Bill was awake.

The senior had seemed much more tired than what Dipper was accustomed to. His eyes were red and puffy from crying all night, and when their gazes locked his aura shifted from an exhausted one to an angered one.

_“What are you doing awake so early? It's a Saturday, you fucking twit.”_

Ouch. Dipper _still_ felt the burn from that sting.

_“Oh, I just woke up and…”_

_“Whatever, I don't give a shit.”_ Which didn't really sound all that legitimate, because he looked like he _did_ give a shit. A huge shit. _“I mean, you woke me up, but that's fine. It's great.”_

_“Someone's a grouch today…”_

It was after that comment that things had been blasted out of proportion and Bill started acting like there was a stick shoved up his ass. Basically the good old days.

Dipper couldn't exactly recall how long they had been yelling at each other or what had been said, but it wound up ending with Bill pointing to the door and demanding that he take a hike. Logically, being the kind of guy who always said the right thing, the brunet shot back “I will!” and stormed out of the room, slamming the door on his way for emphasis.

Which lead him to where he was now.

 _I'm not in a reading mood anymore,_ he decided, angrily putting the book he was holding back into it's spot.

Something was definitely wrong if he wasn't in a reading mood. He was _always_ in a reading mood.

And it wasn't just that. He kept having this dark premonition type of feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong if he didn't go back to the dorm room immediately. Trying to brush the feeling aside was next to impossible, which was a light way of putting it, no matter how much he told himself that Bill didn't want him there in the first place.

For a few moments he stood in a mental debate, rapidly tapping one of his feet against the ground.

 _Fuck it._ He returned the books he'd taken off the shelves prior to now and made haste in getting out of the library as quickly as his legs would allow to carry him.

Somewhere along the mile-long journey he took back to the dorms, he broke off into a hurried sprint, not stopping even when his hips started burning and his leg muscles and heart shouted in protest for him to slow down. As a result, by the time he made it to room 618 and stopped running, he was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and his body dared to shut down. He just barely managed to prevent himself from falling into the door head-first.

Not to his surprise, he found that the door was locked. 

Fishing his room key out of one of his pockets, he unlocked it with ease and pushed it open. Either Bill wasn't here or he didn't want Dipper here.

The first option sounded a hell of a lot more pleasant.

He gagged and had to double-take at the fading, distant smell of cigarette smoke that was assaulting his nostrils mercilessly. Plugging his nose, he stifled a gulp. _It's almost as if Bill's been smo- No._ No. It couldn't be that. He shook the thought away. If Bill actually _had_ been smoking, it would've been against the deal they made in August.

Knowing how his luck was, though, he had to have been wrong. His gaze flitted over to Bill's side of the room and, disgustingly enough, there was an empty pack of cigarettes lying on the ground near the bed.

Dipper let out a long, low breath through his nose, his fingers twitching in an antsy manner at his sides. He left the room for literally three hours- _three fucking hours_ \- and already the world was crumbling over on top of him.

Without much of a thought, he headed over and scooped up the package from off the ground. Angrily, he squeezed it, crushing it underneath his fingers. Then he headed across the room and dumped it into a trash can.

His eyes searched the room. “Bill?” he asked the empty air as he took a step forward, nearly tripping on an empty beer can in the process. He blinked. Had that been there before?

He picked it up regardless and threw it into the trash as well, shaking his head in clearly visible disapproval. “Bill? Are you here?” Making his way into the kitchen, he poked his head inside, maybe in the hope that his roommate would be cooking or baking another batch of delicious cupcakes or something. But the blond wasn't there, and he groaned in frustration, swiveling around on his heels and returning to the main room.

And then there was the bathroom.

He walked up to the door and did a quick three tap knock, pressing his ear onto the wooden surface in order to listen for a reaction. There was no noise on the other side, but he could see the light seeping out from the sliver of space under the door itself, a dead giveaway that Bill was, in fact, inside… or had left the light on.

Hoping for Bill to actually _be_ inside, Dipper knocked a second time, slightly louder. He waited a few seconds more and, being greeted only with the ominous silence, whispered, “Hey, uh, Bill? If you're in there, it would be cool if you at least acknowledged my existence. Also, you're going to have to try harder than just locking up the room next time around. I, uh… I always carry my copy of the room key with me, and-”

He stopped abruptly and pushed his ear further against the bathroom door. Silence, of course, though he could've sworn he heard something.

“Bill? You _are_ in there, right? I'm totally not talking to myself like some kind of weirdo? Because, if I am, I can just walk to the library and…” _This is idiotic._ “You know, you never did tell me how long you wanted me to stay out of the room. Do you have a specific amount of time in mind, or can I come back whenever?”

The quiet was practically teasing him.  _Ha ha, your roommate is never going to talk to you again!_

One of his hands trailed down to the doorknob unconsciously. He didn't realize that he had been turning it and opening the door until it came to his attention that it was moving easily in his grasp, meaning that the door was unlocked.

He began to push it open, but halted, slowly beginning to pull it closed and with little force so Bill wouldn't have to know he had tried to enter at all.  _No, no, wait. What the heck is wrong with me? I can't just walk into the bathroom. That's wrong. I have to be invited in._

“Bill, seriously.” He laughed awkwardly. “If you're in there, please say something to me. I'm not sure how comfortable I’d feel finding out that you were sitting all quiet like a creeper.”

Once this had been said, just like that, a dark shiver shot up his spine, and suddenly he felt  _certain_ that Bill was in the bathroom. But, on another hand, something felt off.

His hand groped the knob and he tried opening the door a second time, pushing all his nervous energy aside. He pushed the door open fully and took a cautious step inside, slapping a hand over his face, completely ready in case Bill was naked or something. He waited anxiously for a angry comment along the lines of “What the fuck are you doing in here?” or “Kid, I'm peeing.” but, upon not getting anything, peeked through a few of his fingers hesitantly.

The bathroom was void of life (except for him, of course).

Dropping his hand down to his side, Dipper couldn't help but gape at the emptiness. This wasn't what he had been expecting at all.

_Huh. I guess Bill isn't here._

He was about ready to turn around and leave when yet another beer can fell into his line of vision. It was lying on the ground next to the bathtub, crushed, as if it had been stepped on- but it was also half-full, some of the liquid inside spilling out and forming a puddle on the tiled floor.

Letting out a groan of annoyance, Dipper walked over and knelt down on one knee to pick it up- which was when the glistening of water meeting the sunlight that was coming in through the window became apparent to him. He flinched at first, then dared to look into the tub.

It was full of water, which figured, a stopper in the drain in order to prevent it from leaving. But that was only half of the problem.

Fully enveloped under the water, head and all, was none other than the guy he had been looking for. And, with much guilt to Dipper, he was naked.

The brunet's cheeks heated up. He attempted to keep his gaze solely glued to the upper part of Bill's body, and started to shake involuntarily when he caught a glimpse of the blond's face.

His golden irises were glazed over and almost completely rolled up into his head, his face having a terrible purple tint, and his lips were a deep blue, parted ever so slightly, allowing water to enter. Lowering gaze a little, it could be seen that one of his hands was clamped tightly around his throat. Every few seconds a small gasp would escape him and a bubble would break the surface of the water before popping.

He was growing more purple by the second…

Dipper blinked then, snapping himself out of a deep trance. No, no,. There was no way he was going to sit here and simply stare at his drowning roommate. Still shaking wildly and acting on pure adrenaline and instinct, he threw his hands into the water- oh God, why was it so  _cold_ \- and grasped Bill's shoulders, tugging him, quite forcefully, up and out of the water so he could breathe.

Bill responded to the transition from water to oxygen immediately, his arms shooting around his chest to hold himself. Eyes shut tight and brows furrowed, he leaned forward and coughed and coughed, an almost excessive amount of water dripping down his chin and back into the bathtub where it belonged. Dipper aided as best he could by rubbing his back to help him get the water out of his lungs. The freshman was panting heavily despite not being the one who had come so close to drowning.

Bill's face eventually lost its purple tint and returned to its normal pale color. So did his lips. He slowly blinked open his eyes, deep breaths escaping him. Wiping away the thin strands of water that had been dripping out of his nostrils with the back of one hand, he then returned it to wrap around his chest. He shivered.

Dipper lowered his own hand from the other male's freckled back and scooted a few inches away to allow him more room. He licked his lips out of habit, heart thumping painfully against his ribcage an unbearable burning sensation in his stomach. He opened his mouth to speak, but clamped it shut before any sound could be made. There were so many different things he could have said in this moment, but he had no idea what to start off with. He was at an utter lost for words.

Bill turned to look at him, a few of his soaked blond locks falling over his eyes. He was quiet as well for a moment or two, up until he pressed his lips into a thin line and made a clicking sound with his tongue, one that expressed disappointment.

“What the hell do you think you're doing in here, kid?” he finally asked.

The younger male was caught off guard by both the sudden question and the harsh tone it had been asked in. He placed down the crushed beer can, which he didn't even know he had still been holding, and shot Bill an irritated glare. “What the hell do  _I_ think  _I'm_ doing in here? No, try this; What the hell do  _you_ think  _you're_ doing in here?”

Bill blew at some of the hair in his face, but it kept falling back over his eyes. “What a man does in the bathroom is his own business.” And, knowing how mature he was, he took that statement in a completely responsible way. The point on his lips morphed into a grin. “But, if you need to know so badly, I was _trying_ to take a bath. However, I'm pretty sure that should be obvious.” He discreetly gestured to the bathtub and his naked form.

Dipper threw one of his hands over his face again at that, blushing madly. “Y-Yeah. Okay. I think I can understand  _that_ part, but…” His voice trailed off, throat going dry. “I'd hate to come off as rude, but it didn't look like you were taking a bath. To me, it looked more like you were… you were…” The last part of his sentence was stuck inside his chest, though his brain screamed it at him loud and clear.  _You were trying to drown yourself._

For the first time in his life, he really,  _really_ wanted to be wrong about something.

He heard Bill scoff, as if the blond knew what he was going to say already and found the idea ridiculous. “Oh, what? I was going to  _what_? Seriously, kid, what kind of crazy ideas do people plant in that head of yours? Are you  _dense?_ I was going to come up eventually.”

“Eventually.” Dipper echoed, all the blood in his face draining down to his toes. He wasn't reassured.  _Eventually_ was a relative term.  _Eventually_ could've been at any time.  _Eventually_ could've been a few seconds, a few minutes… a few hours. But that was way too unsettling a thought. “R-Right. Right.” He cleared his throat and repeated himself a few more times until he felt at least a little convinced. “Right. Of course.”

Bill didn't say anything in return. An agonizing silence made its way into the room, though it felt more akin to last a span of years. Then there was the gurgling of water flooding down a drain to clear it, indicating that Bill had taken out the stopper and was probably stepping out of the bath.

This assumtion only made Dipper slap his other hand onto his face.

Again, silence. Thirty or fourty seconds passed. “Okay. I have a towel on. You can look. It's safe.”

Dipper wasn't convinced. “Around your waist?”

“Well, shit. Of course not.” If that statement hadn't been sarcastic… “Where  _else_ would I put it, wise ass?”

Dipper lowered his hands and, sure enough, Bill was standing outside of the bathtub now, a white towel wrapped around his abdomen, concealing the more… private areas.

“You never did tell me what you were actually doing.” Dipper began, watching the senior as he walked to the toilet and lowered the lid to use as a seat. “Honestly, it would be great if you lied to me. Please. Because if you were trying to  _drown_ yourself, I-”

“I wasn't.”

Dipper could taste bile on his tongue, nearly gagging as he replied, “I have a hard time believing you.” This was more of an admittance. “When you lie to people, you're supposed to make yourself sound  _believable._ That's the whole point.”

“I told you I wasn't-” Bill began to say, but paused mid sentence and sighed audibly, rubbing casually at one of his eyes. “You know what? Whatever. Forget it. You aren't going to listen to me, anyway.” He glared at the brunet and added, “Give me my glasses." 

It wasn't until then that Dipper noticed that Bill hadn't even been wearing them in the first place. He nodded and turned towards the bathtub, his eyes searching the ground. It took him only a few seconds or so to find them, and he leaned down to retrieve them. He handed them to Bill, who slid them on and muttered a low, “Thanks,” in such a way that the younger make didn't think he meant it.

“Alright, fine.” Dipper said after another painful silence blossomed between them. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I'll take your word for it. You didn't just try to drown yourself, as much as it looks like you did.” Raising a brow, he dared to ask, “But, since you weren't, what  _were_ you trying to do?”

Bill shook his head sadly, which the brunet interpreted as his special way of saying  _I don't really want to talk about it._ “It's nothing important. I'm fine.” Despite his words, the familiar light in his eyes dispersed. He absently slicked his stray locks back into place with a few of his fingers. “It was something that happened a while ago. I was eleven, and-”

Dipper waited for him to continue. But he didn't. He instead shook his head again and stared down at the ground, like the tiles that lined the floor had magically become immensely interesting. Then his head drooped down to his chest and a strange noise strangled out of his throat.

Dipper dropped his arms down from around his chest and, very hesitantly, took a step closer to the older male, his features contorting in concern. “Uh, Bill? Are you-”

Then the blond started shaking.

“Bill? Bill!” Dipper threw all hesitation aside and hurriedly took a few steps more so he was directly in front of the older male. Reaching out, he grasped onto his shoulders. He got no response for the sudden contact, no  _You have no right to touch me,_ no  _Get outta my personal space, kid,_ no  _Who do you think you are? Have you ever heard of boundaries?_ Nothing. Bill just continued to shake wildly, his head hung low, like that of an unused marionette doll's.

Which was what exactly told Dipper that something was definitely wrong. No dispute.

 _Okay, okay, okay._ He had to stay calm. What was he supposed to do in a situation like this? Moving a hand off of one of Bill's shoulders and trailing it upwards to plant itself in semi-dry hair, he lightly grabbed a fistful of perfect golden locks and gingerly tugged Bill's head up so he was at eye level.

Bill's eyes were glazed, as they had been when he was drowning himself in the tub. Unlike how they had been then, though, they weren't rolled up into his head. He seemed to be staring off past Dipper despite at this level their gazes should've been locked. His lips parted slightly, allowing swift, breathless inhales and exhales to rush in and out. His bare chest heaved greatly with each one. All the while his entire body continued to shake like a high force earthquake, making it hard for Dipper to stay concentrated.

 _H-He's hyperventilating, he's shaking. Those are symptoms, symptoms. Those are symptoms for…_ Dipper face paled once he had reached a diagnosis. He released Bill's hair, not noting how hard he had been squeezing it until now, but the senior's head simply lolled again. So he had no choice but to settle on holding onto it. _Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit._

Dipper stifled a panicked scream. This wasn't about him.  _Stay calm, stay calm. You need to stay calm, Pines._ The surface of his tongue had long since turned to sandpaper, but he gathered enough courage to speak without having his words break. “Bill. You need to focus. Listen to the sound of my voice. Can you hear me?”

Bill made a sound that seemed like a mix between a choke and a confused  _Uh._ His head slowly began tilt upward a second time, but Dipper tightened his grip on those golden locks in order to stop it. 

“Bill. Don't move. Stay focused on me.” Dipper allowed his words to flow out as easily as what was possible, not sounding too harsh and yet also not too softly. Something neutral. He knew that he had to keep what he was saying simple and understandable.  _Be predictable. Completely avoid surprises._ “Bill. Come on, look at me.”

Bill's gaze managed to fully meet his after some seconds passed. Though his breaths were still heavy, uneven, and fast, and it was hard to keep calm and collected with all the shaking that was also going on, Dipper counted the eye contact as an improvement. This was good. They were getting somewhere. Everything was going to turn out alright. The process just required patience and calm.

“Great job, Bill. I'm proud of you.” It felt as if he were speaking to a mere child. And, maybe, in a poetic kind of way, Bill  _was_ a child. Nothing more than a little kid who needed lots of protection and attention and caring. Just like Pyronica had said. But Dipper decided it best to brush that thought away for the time being. That wasn't what mattered at the moment. “Alright, Bill, you're doing great. I need you to try and keep your head straight for me. I'm going to let go of your hair. Keep your eyes on me. Keep your eyes on me and don't move your head. Got it?”

He didn't wait for a reply, if he was even going to get one. Loosening his fingers around the blond locks, he made sure to keep his hand in reachable distance in case Bill's head moved. To his relief, the senior kept still, and he moved that hand to cup Bill's cheek instead. “Good job. Perfect. Bill, you're doing so wonderful. Now, there's something else I need you to do for me, okay? Think of it as a favor. It's easy, don't worry. It's  _super_ easy as long as you stay focused. Do you think you can do this for me?”

Bill's head bobbed, causing Dipper to grab his hair again. But he released when he came to notice that Bill was just nodding- another sign of improvement. He was responding to what he was being told.

“Alright, Bill. I'm glad you're doing good, but don't move your head. Moving your head is bad. Don't do it.” Lightly grazing his thumb over Bill's cheekbone, the freshman managed a bright smile despite being scared out of his wits. “Like I said, what I need you to do is easy. A piece of cake “ He paused there in order for Bill to process what he was saying, then continued, “I need you to wake up, Bill. I need you to focus on the present. I need you to calm yourself down.”

Bill gasped.

“Bill, please," the freshman said. “I know things were hard for you in the past, and I understand. Life stinks, okay? But that was in the  _past._ You don't have to be scared by it anymore. You're safe here.”

The blond didn't say anything, which wasn't that much of a shocker- but his hyperventilating had lessened, if at least by a tiny amount. His expression had morhped from terror and puzzlement to something unreadable, something that caused Dipper's blood to turn into ice. Though whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, the brunet actually had no clue.

Leaning forward, Dipper pressed their foreheads together gently, desperately grasping onto the older male's shoulders. “Bill," he said quietly, voice almost inaudible. For once Bill seemed to hear quickly, because he let out a sigh in between breaths. His shake was being reduced to a lower, minimum type status, but there was yet to be rid of that wild look in his eyes- the one sure sign that he was panicking.

“You have to listen to me, Bill. Listen to what I'm saying.” Golden eyes fluttered shut at his words, and he pressed on, “It is  _not_ this place that you're scared of. It's the memory of a different place. A different time.” The breathlessness that was brushing over his face, over his eyes, his nose, his lips, was gradually growing less and less frantic and erratic, and the shaking he felt underneath his hands was mostly dispersed. “Memories are only ever in your head. Memories can't physically hurt you. They aren't real. Whatever happened to you when you were eleven is probably super shitty and bad, but you were a kid then. You're grown now. You can handle this. You  _can_ handle it, Bill. If you could survive the actual event back when you were a kid, then you sure as hell can survive the memory now. And, if you ever need help, I'm here. Alright?”

Finally, Dipper allowed his eyes to slip shut as well, and he slumped with exhaustion. He was already starting to get sick of the sound of his own voice, and he was sure that Bill was, too. He wasn't particularly the type of guy that liked to repeat himself, not to mention how terrible he usually was in tense situations- he was honestly surprised he had managed to keep his cool up to this point.

He almost didn't register the arms that had begun to move around his waist, bringing him into a hug, nor that he had wrapped his own arms around Bill's neck in return. But when the reality of what was happening caught up with him, he pulled away, seperating their foreheads so he could catch a glimpse at his calmed roommate.

Bill's golden irises had regained their normally michevious light, and his face was no longer a ghostly pale- but his bottom lip quivered, showing that he was going to cry. His chest heaved once more with the deep breath that he took then, and he whispered, “My dad tried to kill me.”

Dipper heard the blood his body rushing to his ears and roaring indignantly. “Your dad...tried to…” He swallowed dryly as the cold fist of fear for the other gripped his heart. “Your dad tried to kill you.”

“On my birthday.”

“Your dad tried to kill you on your birthday," he parroted, unsuccessfully trying to blink away the tears that were beginning to form within him. He  _also_ tried not to notice the tears that were in Bill's eyes as well. What kind of jerk dad tried to kill his own child on their  _birthday_?

An ugly thought hit Dipper in the back of his skull. “When...When he tried to kill you, did it have something to do with water?” He guessed.

Bill nodded gravely. “I… yeah. It messed me up a whole lot, I just-”

He was cut off as Dipper yanked him into yet another hug, a gasp escaping his lips. But after his moment of surprise, he returned the embrace, holding onto Dipper like his life depended upon it.

“No more arguing between us," he said, and he sounded serious. Deadly serious. “Life's too short for that shit.”

“Yeah.” Dipper agreed immediately, burying his face into the juncture between Bill's neck and shoulder, still ignoring the fact that the older male was kind of naked. “Life's… stupid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie would you look at that. Bill is sad and gay ~~just like me~~
> 
> On a nicer note, here's some fan art: [ spytheninja464 ](http://featheredkit.tumblr.com/post/146009725812/spytheninja464-fixed-the-skin-i-think)


	17. Love is Fantastical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *points to sky* THIS FIC OFFICIALLY HAS 100,000+ WORDS AND I FEEL EXHAUSTED.
> 
> But seriously, I'm honestly surprised I've managed to make it this far to begin with. Your support is amazing and means so much to me through it all. <3
> 
> Also, this chapter is light on angst but has lots of foreshadowing.

“What's going on with your forehead, Pine Tree?"

Dipper slowly awoke to the lightest grazing of fingers carding calmly and soothingly through his bangs and the warm breath of another human being ghosting over his face in a way that made a pleasurable shiver shoot up his spine. He blinked quite rapidly, though he was not yet conscious enough to open his eyes completely, and sighed, leaning cozily into the touch, which earned him a snarky yet kindhearted chuckle from his current bed mate. “You're fine, kid. You don't have to get up right away. It's, like, three in the morning. Good morning, by the way.” That probably exaplained why he felt so achingly tired, he mused as those beautifully nimble, slender fingers continued to do magic with his brown curls. “I guess neither of us could sleep tonight… Um, tomorrow? I don't know. Well, technically, it _is_ tomorrow, but, ya know, time is basically meaningless. So whatever.” A nail suddenly scraped against the ‘handle’ on his forehead. “You know, I really like this. A lot. Pine Tree? Psst, kid.”

Sighing, the brunet absently adjusted his head so it could seep further into his pillow. He asked, “Y' like wha'?”

“The whole weird thing you have going on with your forehead there. Is _this_ what you got your nickname from. That's super cool.”

 _Nick… nickname. Forehead._ Dipper, still not awake enough to function properly, nuzzled into the warm touch. “Nickname," he so quietly whispered, a small tired, happy smile lingering over one corner of his pink lips. “Mmm, yeah. Thanks.”

There was another amused chuckle from the being next to him. The heavenly administrations, to his disappointment, came to a halt. “Pine Tree, Pine Tree, Pine Tree. You aren't going to listen to me at _all,_ are you?” the other mocked. “Although I _do_ appreciate a good cuddle every once in awhile, I'd at least like the guy that I'm cuddling with to listen to what I'm saying.”

Dipper tiredly opened his eyes a little wider, just past halfway. He began to frown with the intense concentration that it was taking for him to think properly. His mind was clouded over with the remnants of the wonderful sleep he'd been having prior to being woken, so it took him a few more moments in order for Bill's words to sink in. And, when they finally managed to, he let out a high pitched yelp and (not so) swiftly scooted away a centimeter or two, throwing one hand up to conceal his forehead- though he knew very well the action didn't matter at this point. Bill had already seen it.

Though it was incredibly dark, for obvious reasons, Dipper could clearly see the confident smirk that had made its way onto the blond's features. “Based on your reaction, I'm going to assume that I wasn't supposed to find out about your birthmark?” he guessed.

Yes, the damned birthmark. The thing that Dipper was stuck with for the rest of his life. The literal bane of his existence.

Lowering his hand from his head, the brunet could only force out a shaky grumble. “Y-Yeah. _Fuck._ ” He didn't even have to see Bill's expression contort into one of confusion to add on, “It's just… I used to get bullied a lot by other kids until I started covering it up. I mean, everyone still calls me by my nickname, Dipper, but that's always felt like a part of things. Like, after covering up the birthmark itself for so long, I've kind of forgotten about it altogether.” He shrugged in a half-assed manner. “Just… forget you saw it, please. That would be great.”

“Forget I saw it? What the hell? Why would you want me to do something like that?” Bill asked, almost shyly reaching out to part Dipper's bangs a second time, exposing the younger male's forehead once again and revealing the dots that lined it- dots that, when connected, created the image of a certain constellation, the constellation that so happened to be Dipper's very namesake. “I'd have a pretty hard time forgetting about something as weird as this. I've _never_ seen anything quite like this before. Not ever in my life. Wow.” One of the blond's index fingers tantalizingly ran over each ‘star' of the constellation, his voice dropping to a seemingly thoughtful whisper. “Let me see if I can remember this right. Alkaid, Mizar, Alioth, the handle… Megrez, Phecda, Dubhe, aaaand Merak. Those outline the bowl. They're all here. Perfect.”

Dipper laughed awkwardly. He would've ducked away long before if it wasn't for Bill's closeness being disgustingly comforting. Despite himself, he forced a smile and said, “Sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Honestly, something you can act really clueless for someone who's supposed to be intelligent.” Bill sighed out impatiently in reply, pulling his hand away from Dipper's face, but not before running his thumb gingerly down his roommate's jaw. The brunet couldn't help but ache in the memory of its warmth. “They're the stars that make up the Ursa Major. You know, your _birthmark._ You didn't know that? Seriously?”

Now Dipper actually did duck away, nervously, a light blush dusting his cheeks. He patted his bangs back into their proper place, hiding what he wished hadn't have been seen. At least Bill didn't seem to be bothered by it. “I mean, it's not that I don't know, per say. It's just that everyone in my family always told me my birthmark was the Ursa Minor, the _Little_ Dipper. It's kinda what my sister calls me. A lot," he tacked on with distaste. The whole alpha twin thing was annoying, a light way of putting it.

He could feel Bill shift slightly in the bed, the action accompanied by the mattress springs complaining loudly in protest. It wasn't until the senior seemed to have found a nice position and ceased movement that he replied, the cursed creaking coming to a pleasant halt. “Nope. That, my ignorant apprentice, is definitely the Ursa Major. Trust me, I know astronomy shit like I know the back of my hand, and I swear on my life that the handle on the Major is more so slightly upturned than the one on the Minor. Either your family was lying to you, or they're not as naturally talented at paying attention to details as I am.” At the final statement, he smirked widely, his terrifyingly sharp canines deadly and visible even in the darkness of night. “I'm only messing around with you. I used to be dork level obsessed with star stuff as a kid, so this is kinda all memorized. I sketched out anything I saw in the sky. Orion's belt, Pegasus, Cancer-” He lazily waved at Dipper, most likely referring to the birthmark. “You name it.”

Dipper blinked curiously. That was actually pretty interesting. “You _used_ to? What happened, then?" 

It was Bill's turn to shrug. “Shit, shit, and more shit. Lots and lots of shit. Simply put, most of it went and hit the fan. Hard. Full speed, no mercy.”

“Ah.” The freshman licked his lips. After the whole thing that happened in the bathroom a few days ago, he figured it was best to not ask what answers such as that meant. Not after seeing Bill look so scared and weak and fragile, like handling him the wrong way would cause him to break, scattering into a million pieces on the floor.

Seeing Bill in that state of emotion was odd. He was normally such an asshole, the king of all assholes. So confident, excessively charismatic on a level that was actually irritating, and… loud. And annoying. Having witnessed the blond's apparent suicide attempt (that was how Dipper decided to take the drowning issue, despite Bill's denial) and panic attack was just what he need for the cold hand of reality to slap him in the face.

Bill had more reasons to be an asshole than Dipper had originally thought. But he wasn't actually going to admit to that revelation out loud. No, doing _that_ would give Bill the benefit of the doubt.

“Hey, kid. Are you still cold?”

Dipper snapped out of his deep thoughts suddenly, reaching up with one hand to gingerly rub at his temples, which were beginning to ache terribly. After the pain had gradually ebbed away, he moved that hand to rest under his head and against his pillow. And, gazing at his roommate wistfully, all he could manage to stutter out was, “I-I'm sorry. I didn't r-really hear you too well. Can you say that again, please?”

“Yeesh. I asked you if you were still cold.” Bill replied after the passing of a few seconds, his voice laced with hesitation and something else that Dipper couldn't quite place. However, he was swift to mask it with snarky confidence. “I noticed that, uh, you started shivering a little bit there, kid.”

Dipper hadn't actually noticed that he was shivering though, now that it had been pointed out, he felt eight times as cold. _How_ was it _possible_ that someone with bad eyesight could notice that he was shivering before even _he_ did?

But, casting away the ugly thought so he wouldn't wind up getting lost in thought and drifting off into La La Land for the second time that night, the younger male nodded in response to Bill's apparent concern a bit grimly. He kneaded his bottom lip nervously, then released it and said, “Yeah, I guess I am. I'm _kind_ of cold. It's fine, though.  You can just move closer and-”

“Hold on a minute.” The blond sat upright with abrupt force, resulting in the horrible creaking noise from the mattress. Dipper chose not to complain about it and instead watched in silence as the older male blindly reached down and over the side of the bed, seeming to be palming around for something. A moment or two (or possibly three) passed by slowly and painfully. Then that something Bill had been searching for was thrown onto the bed, landing neatly onto Dipper's face. It was cold and soft to the touch and smelled of cigarette smoke and alcohol, plus anything additional that the brunet either didn't recognize or was too disgusted and horrified to acknowledge to a certain degree.

Clutching onto the item and bringing it away from his face so the smell wasn't directly penetrating his nose, he realized the soft feel was due to it being fabric- an article of clothing, to be exact, which he noted as his fingers found and ran along the sleeves of the thing, and, eventually, the freezing metal of the zipper. “Wha...What?” he stammered stupidly.

Bill resumed a lying position, a scoff reverberating in his throat. “I gave you my hoodie, moron. If you're cold, which you are because you said so, you should put it on.”

“Oh, no, no. I can't take this. Here.” _Because it smells like death doing drugs,_ Dipper added on mentally, not really saying it aloud by means to not upset the older male. He feebly tried to offer it back to whom it rightfully belonged to, but a hand from that said owner slapped at him in refusal. “No, seriously. It's yours. It would make more sense if you were to put it on.”

“I'm not cold. I'm with-” Bill started to return, but cut short. He quickly rolled onto his other side to face away from Dipper. “As I was saying, I'm not cold. I only want to go to sleep. So, I insist, put it on and go to sleep too.”

Dipper thought he knew what Bill had been trying to say. _I'm with you. You keep me warm._

But he didn't point it out and, figuring there was no point in arguing with his roommate, he slowly sat up to not cause any creaking, then slid his arms into the sleeves of the hoodie. It was a little big on him, the edges of the sleeves falling out past the tips of his fingers, so he pulled those sleeves to his elbows and zipped the zipper up to his collarbone before moving to lie down as well.

As much as he hated thinking about it, the yellow hoodie was surprisingly nice- it was warm, comfortable, and breathable. Not to mention that the smell wasn't as evil and horrible as he would've liked to wish it was after a few minutes. He fell asleep rather easily while wearing it,  arms wrapped tight and secure around his roommate's middle.

In fact, he had been so completely enthralled in the hold of a good rest well-deserved that he almost didn't hear the loud beeping of his alarm clock a few short hours later- the sole indicator that he had to wake up, get off his ass, and start a new day. It was actually the low growl of complaint from Bill that roused him from his deep slumber, making him sit up tiredly and reach over the side of the bed to slap the snooze button on the alarm, ceasing the noise.

He also didn't notice that he was still wearing the hoodie until he brought one hand up to his face so he could rub the sleep out of his eyes, only to find that it was totally concealed in a yellow sleeve. 

He looked over at Bill.

“Bill," he hissed.

His roommate grunted.

“Bill," he tried again, raising his voice to a level just a little louder than what would be normal, now beginning to pull down the zipper to the hoodie and shrug it off his shoulders.

Bill didn't react to his name being used immediately and, when he did, grabbed his pillow out from under his head and used it to cover his face, which in turn muffled his words and made them sound distorted. “Oh my fucking God. I'm trying to sleep. What do you want from me?”

Figures he would act like a huge jerk in the morning. “I don't want anything _from_ you. I'm trying to _give_ something _to_ you.” Dipper said honestly, removing the hoodie the rest of the way and holding it out above the older male, who had long since moved the pillow from his face to see what the brunet was referring to. “Well, technically, give something _back_ to you. Here's the hoodie. Thanks for, uh, letting me wear it. It was… very warm.”

Bill picked lint off the pillow and narrowed his eyes- as he wasn't wearing his glasses, he had to stare up the hoodie for a time to get a good look at it. Then, at last, his lids slipped shut and he said, “Oh, _oh._ You're talking about that. I have no idea why I thought you were talking about the blanket.” He angrily swatted at the hoodie, not bothering to open his eyes until Dipper took it away, slightly puzzled by the reaction. “If you like it and find it warm then you can just wear it. I heard that there are going to be below average temperatures today, so there's that. Have a nice life.” With the last statement, he brought the pillow to his face again and muttered something inaudible.

“No, wait, that makes no sense at all.” Dipper argued, though he was clutching onto the article of clothing to his chest like it was his lifeline. “ _You_ should wear it if it's cold outside. I mean, like, isn't it _yours?_ I have my own sweaters and stuff, so yeah, I don't need this. I can leave it on the dresser for you in case you change your mind about not wanting it lat-”

There was a grunt of disapproval from the blond.

Dipper sighed in defeat. “Fine, I'll wear it. Would _that_ make you happy? But I still don't really see why you would want me to.”

This was rewarded with a low chuckle from Bill that was lucid and audible even through the thick, muffling pillow.

* * *

 

Dipper had never so greatly loved and appreciated the short amount of time he had between when he got back to his dorm room from classes and when Bill did ever in the school year so far. It was always his favorite time of day during the school week, especially because it was when he had the opportunity to talk to his twin sister. As in, without Bill to embarrass him in front of her. And that was considered a blessing in his eyes.

“I don't have a whole lot of time today, so make the daily update quick.” Mabel's voice was loud and demanding and booming even without the phone being on speaker, which was to be expected. “You have exactly sixty seconds to complain about and/or possibly gush over your asshole roommate. Ready, set, go.”

Dipper, surprised by all the sudden yelling coming from his sister once she had answered his call, flinched and pulled the phone away from his ear and placed it next to himself on the bed. He then adjusted his handy dandy laptop, which was nestled on his lap, said, “Wait, hold on. Don't start timing me yet.”

Mabel groaned over the line (no doubt in frustration). “Fine. You have exactly sixty seconds to get yourself situated so I can time you for real.”

Dipper was ready to talk in twenty. He kicked off his socks and leaned back into a cozier position. “Alright. Ready. You can start timing me now.”

“Like I said, sixty seconds," his sister warned, though her voice held a playful type of undertone.

“To start off, he found out about my birthmark sometime this morning.” Dipper began in a rush, a few of his fingers itching and hitting nervously at the keys of his laptop's keyboard. Of course, he didn't necessarily want or need to explain that it had happened while they were lying in the same bed together, seeing as he _might_ have forgotten to tell his sister once or twice about the very insignificant, very unimportant fact that they had been sharing the same bed at night in the first place. “And after that he, um, gave me his hoodie for some reason.” _To stay warm._ “Literally, Mabel, he _insisted_ that I wear the thing. I'm not exaggerating when I say it smells like-”

“And you did?”

Blush dusting his cheeks, Dipper flicked at the zipper of said hoodie, which he had in fact wore the entire day. “No, no. I didn't wear it. Why would I have _wanted_ to?” he lied, somehow managing to not trip over his own words and make it painfully obvious that he wasn't telling the truth. “I told him that I was going to leave it on the dresser in case he changed his mind on wanting to give it to me instead of just wearing it himself.” He shrugged, too late realizing that Mabel actually couldn't see the action. “I guess he did, because it's not sitting on the dresser.”

Part of that was true. It really _wasn't_ sitting on the dresser.

“Mhm. And what about the rest of your day? How were things?” Mabel questioned. She sounded genuinely curious like she did every single day that her twin called her. “How were your classes in specific?”

“They were fine, I suppose. But in world geo my professor-”

“Aaaaaand sixty. Time's up, Bro Bro!” Mabel chimed loudly, seemingly out of nowhere, sounding excessively cheerful and enthusiastic. Another normal day. “Ooh, ooh! Time me! I'll take sixty seconds to talk about _my_ day.” There was a deep _ahem_ that followed, her clearing her throat (never a good sign). “First thing's first, I woke up at nine a.m. and brushed my hair. Let me tell you, it was _such_ a rat's nest this morning. And I mean, even more of a rat's nest than it usually is in the morning…”

“Mabel.”

The female twin almost seemed to be snapped out of some kind of crazy trance. Apparently talking about ratty hair was a very distracting and enthralling pastime. “Oh, come on! What do you want? How am I supposed to get my whole day in if you interrupt me? I'm on a limited time frame here.”

Dipper sighed, slamming shut his laptop dramatically and putting it aside to use for later. He picked up his phone and held it a few inches away from his face so Mabel could hear him clearly on the other side. “Listen, I get that you're busy right now, and I know exactly how that feels, but can you hear me out? As a sister, please. Besides, how busy could you possibly be? You go to a party school.” _Sounds like Bill's kind of place,_ he thought, then internally yelled at himself for it.

“Excuse you, Mr. Best School In The Entire Country, but with a good party school comes epic parties.” Mabel retorted, as if that should be a crystal clear concept. “I'm - busy - with - _parties._ Awesomely epic parties with awesomely epic people and awesomely epic things. Er, I don't drink at these parties ever, though, so you don't need to worry about that… or tell Mom and Dad to worry about that," she tacked on at the end, tone growing a nervous edge. Which wasn't concerning at all. “But let's talk about the serious stuff. What's it that has you so cranky and worked up, Dip?”

Running his fingers through the knots in his brunet curls, Dipper took a deep, shaky breath. “I'm not cranky, and _definitely_ not worked up. I've just been thinking about some things is all. None of it is too big, I assure you, but uh…” He bit down on his bottom lip, not sure of what to say next. So many words were jumbled up in his brain at the moment, the problem with that being that he couldn't decide which ones to use first. It was at times like this he wished he could be able to say what he wanted and always sound confident. Like a certain somebody that he knew. Like… like… _Bill._

He brushed away the last thought and slapped himself on the forehead. No, he needed to _stop_ constantly thinking about those kinds of things. He didn't want to be _anything_ like his roommate. He didn't… like… his roommate. That was an established fact.

“Okay…” Mabel sounded confused. Dipper didn't really blame her. “Would it be rude for me to ask what exactly are those ‘some things' that you've been thinking about? Those some, unimportant things that don't bother you at all, seeing as you just said that they don't make you cranky and worked up?”

Once again the male twin's fingers grew that uncontrollable, irritable itch, that twitch and ache to need to move and stay in a constant motion. In response to the certain twitch, he tapped the index finger on his right hand against his knee in an antsy manner. He had yet to take another deep breath before speaking. “No, I guess it wouldn't be rude for you to ask such a question…," he started, but caught that he was off topic and picked himself up with, “Remember the other day when I told you about what happened in the bathroom?” If he recalled correctly, he hadn't given his sister _all_ the details of the mentioned incident; in fact, what Mabel knew was simply that Bill had almost drowned in the bathroom, and then had a panic attack afterwards (which was true, but didn't really dwelve into explaining how these events had come to be a reality to begin with).

Luckily for him, Mabel had been courteous enough to not ask for major details relating to it, probably because she understood the events were pretty bad and hard to explain. “...Yeah, yeah. I think forgetting about something like that would be difficult. Sounded like a tough thing for the _both_ of you to go through, if you want me to be completely honest.” Dipper could always count on her for sisterly support and saying the right thing. “But what about it? Did Bill have another panic attack… or almost drown again? That doesn't sound healthy. Maybe you should tell him to see a doctor.”

“ _No_ . Oh my God, _no._ ” Dipper imagined another panic attack as the _worst_ case scenario. “He's fine, he's fine, I promise. But that's actually the problem. He seems almost _too_ alright after everything that happened, you know? Like, he acts as if nothing had happened at all and, quite frankly, I find it very terrifying.”

“Mmm. I understand.”

“How can someone possibly get over that so fast?”

Mabel was silent for an eternity or three. Then she mused, “That's a good question. However, let me try to answer that question _with_ a question; How can you be so sure that Bill's over what happened?”

“I don't really understand what you're trying to say.”

“Now, I don't intend to come off as cheeky or rude, but it sounds to me that Bill is most likely just trying to not think about the situation. Trying of bottle it up and cast it aside, never to be seen again, ya feel me?” The female twin made a ‘pop' sound over the line, which Dipper interpreted as her intimidating the sound of a cap coming off some type of container. “From what you've told me so far, I can use my detective skills to determine that he sounds like the sort of guy who's secretly crying on the inside.” She gasped. “Oh my goodness, you know what this reminds me of? This one romance movie-”

“Mabel, focus.” Dipper urged desperately, mentally face palming.

“Right, right. Sorry about that. I tend to run off the tracks sometimes.” _Oh, I never noticed._ “But, relating to the topic of angsty romance, how are those novels I gave to you? I know the genre isn't really the apple of your eye, so to speak, but you _have_ to admit the character development-”

This was beginning to grow tiresome. “ _Mabel._ Can you try and focus for me? Please.”

“Oh, oh, _alright_ already. I see how it is. Only wanna talk about you and not me.” Mabel teased. “Seriously, though, I'm focused. I could not possibly be more focused than I am in this present moment.” She cleared her throat again. “Relating to the _actual_ topic at hand, I think you should talk to him, guy to guy style, about how he's feeling. You two could gain some real understanding and trust with that sappy crap.”

Dipper wasn't surprised to find that the side of his head was aching terribly. “No offense, but Bill and I aren't girls, nor do we _speak_ girl, Mabel.”

“I'm going to take offense to that anyway and count it as an insult," his sister interjected. “And sure you do! Everyone has to sit down and talk girl at some point in their lives. It's how we deal with our personal problems. Oh, and by the way, it's not even ‘speaking girl.’ The correct way to describe it would be ‘talking about the nasty stuff going on in your life and trying to get that awful weight off your chest.’” Mabel paused before adding, “That aside, you don't need to talk to Bill for a long time to reach an understanding. Five minutes, maybe. That's all you need. Meet him halfway. Reach a consensus. And _boom,_ Bill's gonna start feeling better piece by piece.”

 _So I'm assuming that's the only advice I'm gonna manage to get out of her,_ Dipper thought grimly, but said, “Okay, I guess I could try it out. Thanks, Mabes. Have fun at your party or whatever. Bill should be finished with classes soon and I have homework to do.”

“Talk to you tomorrow, Bro.” Mabel replied and, before Dipper could even move his thumb to hit the ‘end call' button, hung up.

Dipper only shook his head and stuffed his phone into one of his jean pockets. Admittedly, he was used to Mabel not listening to him and acting as if she were in a rush, but it was still annoying. _At least she gave me a little advice._

But what was she expecting him to do with that advice? Try to spend quality, cheesy bonding time with Bill? Invite Bill to a tea party or something and ask, “Oh, yeah, by the way, do you mind talking to me about anything that might be bothering you right now? I don't mean to be nosy or anything, I just want to know.” Absolutely not. That was a terrible idea. The worst idea to ever have come into existence.

Although, it wasn't that he particularly _cared_ about Bill was feeling. Not at all- he was only a little concerned at the fact that his roommate expressed behaviors that would be considered morally wrong to anyone who had a right mind. And that was it.

Really, it was.

Explanations aside, Dipper still had a pile of homework that needed to get done, and sitting and thinking wasn't exactly going to help that. Considering that homework wasn't the type of thing that could do itself. He filled his cheeks with warm air, then promptly released it in a loud, long exhale, reaching for his laptop so he could move it back into its previous place. _Let's start off with computer literacy,_ he decided, cracking his knuckles before bringing his fingers down to the keyboard to begin typing.

He had been adding in the finishing touches and doing some final editing for his five page essay when he nodded off into a sleep he hadn't even known was something that he needed, and what felt like a second later to fingers harshly snapping directly in front of his face. Blinking first, if took some time for him to be able to see his roommate clearly, and when he did, upon noticing his proximity to a certain other human being, he had to scoot backwards until his head hit the headboard. “Fuck," he muttered, rubbing the spot on his head that had been cursed with the contact.

“Whoa! Don't wanna hurt yourself there, kid!” Bill laughed, moving to sit next to the brunet instead of over him in a formation that looked almost terrifyingly straddle-like. His trademark grin was ever present, which was to be expected, truthfully, and his hair was a ruffled mess, as if a bird had made a nest, laid her eggs, and started a family in those blond locks. “Didn't mean to scare ya. It's just that you're a _really_ heavy sleeper. I've been saying your name for the past fifteen minutes. Guess you were tired.”

Heavy sleeper? Dipper? No, Bill must have been mistaken somehow. Dipper could not have possibly been a _lighter_ sleeper. _Anything_ could wake him up (the incident on the first day of classes didn't count, alright?), _especially_ if that anything happened to be someone saying his name. It was like his ears had been previously set to be hypersensitive whenever his name was to be mentioned, whether the person who mentioned it was ten feet or ten miles away.

Bill was clearly delusional.

However crazy the blond could be, though, all Dipper could force himself to do was place his laptop to the side and say a sarcastic, “ _Riiiight_. Okay.” Then he swallowed, throat going dry and scratchy. “But you're back from classes, so that's what really matters… I guess. What do you have for homework today?”

“Wow, yeesh. Your tone of voice tells me you were expecting me to die before I got back. God knows how dangerous the walk to the dorms can be, huh?” Bill laughed a second time and made a choking gesture with his hands, probably in an attempt to demonstrate himself getting strangled by some kind of dangerous animal.

He let them drop down to his sides when he noticed the younger's male expression. “You doing okay there, bud? Your brain _finally_ decided to crash after so much thinking? I _told_ you it isn't hea-”

Dipper furrowed his brows in deep concentration. “Shut up for a second, alright?”

Bill's grin widened to impossible heights. Knowing how he usually was when given instructions, it didn't come as a shock when he didn't actually shut up. “I think I get it. This is the part of the horror movie when you hear something out of place, tell me to be quiet so you can listen better, I ignore you because I don't care, and you-”

“Shhhh," the brunet hissed, tilting his head to one side as he proceeded to stare off into the distance.

“-and you do the annoying ‘shhhh' thing, like you did just now, for instance, and I, at last, shut my mouth and listen with you because I realize that you're being very serious about this whole thing.” Bill finished, quieting once the last of his words had died down, falling away slowly.

They were both silent for a while, Dipper's build up of fear and confusion wavering with each passing moment. Something didn't feel quite right to him, though he couldn't place what it was yet. He was sitting on his bed, and Bill was sitting next to him. That was normal. The television was across the room. That was normal. The kitchen and bathroom were in their right places, too. That was _normal_.

What was it that felt so wrong about this all of the sudden?

Dipper thought he had an idea, but it vanished from his mind when Bill burst out with, “And this is the part of the movie when I talk again because nothing is happening. I start to think you're being insane and paranoid. But you still stay persistent on the nagging in your gut, that dark premonition deep down inside…”

“Bill, this isn't a joke.”

“Then why the fuck is it so hilarious?”

Dipper cast him a dubious glance and sighed in exasperation. “Are you honestly kidding me right now? Is everything some kind of sick joke to you?”

“Mm. Now, do you want me to answer those questions in the order that you asked them, or can I switch ‘em? Because I can answer one of them with confidence; yes.”

“Yes to which one?”

“The one that was a question.”

“They were _both_ questions!” Dipper snapped, rubbing his head in response to an approaching migraine, only to find that he didn't really _have_ a migraine. _Huh._ Usually, at a point like this, he would be so frustrated that he would have the temptation to pull his hair out.

Surprisingly, he wasn't that frustrated (though he _was_ frustrated).

Which confirmed it. Something was wrong here. Something was _definitely_ wrong here.

“Okay, okay. I give. I'm done messing around, I swear.” Bill stated after a moment, holding up his hands and waving them in mock surrender. “You seriously need to learn how to lighten up. Live a little, kid. Life's too short for you to stress yourself out with every little thing. It doesn't _mean_ anything.” Then he quickly added on, “Well, relatively speaking, seeing as nothing means anything in a more philosophical sort of sense and our lives are actually insignificant and- Wow, I really went off track there. Let me try that again.” His grin fell slightly on one corner of his lips. “What's got you so worked up?”

Dipper groaned and threw his head back, making sure not to bump it against the headboard. “I am _not_ worked up! Why does everyone keep thinking I'm worked up?!”

“That's probably because you're acting pretty worked up, duh.” Bill replied, blinking, clearly dumbfounded. “Not that seeing you worked up like this is exactly new, but you look like you're going to implode. And, although I do think the idea of guts and blood everywhere is pretty cool, I would much rather prefer for them to not be _your_ blood and guts. Just a mess for me to clean up. Besides, you look  _much_ better as a living, breathing human being.”

“I am… going to assume that is a compliment.” Dipper murmured, scratching his neck in an awkward manner. _I'll take what I can get._ “So thanks, I think. I like living and breathing, too, but, uh…” He swept his gaze around the room in calculation for the umpteenth time in the past five minutes. “If you want to know what's wrong, I'll tell you. The thing is, if I'm being honest with you, I'd say that something doesn't feel…” He almost didn't finish but, noting his roommate's expectant look, managed, “Something feels off. I guess I must be losing my mind.” The last part was only a half-joke.

Bill raised a brow, and once he opened his mouth to speak, the brunet intervened with, “I know, I know. It sounds stupid, I know. But please don't make fun of me.” He honestly didn't know why the begging felt so necessary. “It was just a feeling that came out of nowhere, I-”

“I have no idea how big and what kind of jerk you take me for.” Bill interrupted, pushing his glasses up his nose while a small, genuine smile snuck a way over his face, “but, I assure you when I say that I wasn't going to make fun of you. I told you I was done messing around, didn't I? I _swore,_ in fact. I never break a swear.” His smile morphed into that irritating grin. “Have you taken into consideration that you woke up, like, a few seconds ago? You got that dream residue, kid. Can't separate that from reality, you're a little disoriented. But, just in case…” He brought one of his hands upwards and pressed it against the younger male's forehead, then pulled it away after what felt like a forced amount of time. “You, my friend, are burning up. And you said you were cold this morning… Are you still cold?”

Dipper licked his lips nervously, picking up on what Bill was trying to hint at, and laughed shortly. “Yeah, I don't know who you think you're talking to, but you have the wrong person. I don't get sick. I don't get fevers. I don't-”

“Well, I'd say the same thing.” Bill cut in carelessly, shrugging. “When I was a real little kid, _I_ never got the flu, the common cold, the stomach bug, or really anything that any of the other kids in my school got infected with at least once a year. And I was around people a lot, let's be honest here. I was glowing with health all the time, even when my mom got…” The blond faltered for but a second, but quickly picked up, “Anywho, the first time I had gotten sick in _years_ was on the night I threw up and you forced me to clean up the mess. I refused to accept that I wasn't in A-OK health then. Now welcome to my world.” He chuckled and cradled his arms behind his head confidently. “Tell me when you want me to go get your medicine.”

“I. Don't. Need. Any. Medicine. I'm… I'm only tired. Because I have to put up with  _you_ every day.” Dipper growled. Then, remembering the “stop being an asshole” rule, he hung his head downwards.

“I do appreciate the fact that I stress you out, but you're also tired because you're sick.”

“But, really, I'm not sick.” Dipper proceeded to insist, barely being able to manage keeping his voice at a level-headed tone as he spoke, “And, even if I was, why would it matter to you? You don’t care about _anything._ ” He buried his face in his hands, suddenly feeling ten times more tired than he had been but mere seconds before.

And, from having his face buried in his hands, he didn't see when his roommate's expression morphed into something that showed either hurt or concern. Or both. However, by the time he had lifted his head again, the expression was gone and Bill's snarky grin had taken its place.

“Well, if you wanna get technical, it _shouldn't_ matter to me," the older male admitted without hesitation, his eyes lighting up in apparent amusement. “Not even in the slightest. But, strangely enough, it almost seems to strike me that it s _hould_ matter. At most by a tiny smidgen. You get what I'm sayin'?”

“No.” Dipper said honestly. “No, I don't get what you're trying to say at all.”

Bill laughed at the younger male's obvious puzzlement and then shifted his weight with a grunt of effort, moving atop the other again without touching in that straddling position. Dipper would have protested if it weren't for the finger that fell over Bill's outstretched lips, signifying a want for silence. “What I'm _saying_ is that, even though I wish I didn't, I actually sort of give a fuck about your health. Don't get all excited about me saying that, though, ‘cause you're nothing special.”

“Uhm, I have no idea how I'm supposed to take that.” Dipper offered weakly, shuddering as cold, slim hands found his bangs and gently brushed them off to one side, exposing his birthmark. “Do you… Should I take it as, like, a half compliment, half insult, or…” Then he promptly froze and stiffened at the feel of lips brushing with practiced lightness over the faux constellation. It remained this way for a moment before he gathered the courage to speak. “What was that for?” He asked, his heart thundering so loudly he was sure Bill could hear it clearly.

Smirk becoming something a bit more insane and sickly, the blond pulled away just enough so his breath was barely ghosting over the other's face. “I don't know. A lot of things. Why do you need to know?”

“It's not necessarily that I _need_ to know, per say, it's more along the lines of I really _want_ to.” Dipper began to say, but caught ahold of his words and paused. After some considering what wouldn't make him sound like an idiot, he continued with, “That… isn't important right now.” Despite it being super important. “We need to talk. About… things.”

“Listening.” Bill replied immediately. His playful expression said otherwise, even as he lowered his hands from the brunet's forehead and gazed at him intently.

The younger of the two bit down on his bottom lip out of nervousness, taking some time to think of the right words. _Mabel, you had better hope that your stupid advice works or else._ Then, once he was absolutely certain he had the courage to speak, he began slowly, “Listen, about what happened the other day, when you were in the bathroom and…” He trailed off, losing his twenty seconds of confidence. How was he supposed to describe the situation? What _was_ a way to describe it? Preferably in a way that wouldn't make Bill angry.

“I have absolutely no idea what you're trying to say.” Bill cut in before the other could continue, his golden eyes half-lidded with disinterest and full of something unreadable. Or… maybe it wasn't so unreadable. It was hard for Dipper to tell, though, because of two things: The first thing being that the blond's jaw was clenched in a way that was almost like some type of warning, telling him to not bring up anything else regarding the situation. The second thing being that the blond had also forcefully clamped a hand over his mouth, which was basically the thing that had stopped him altogether. “In all seriousness, _nothing_ happened in the bathroom the other day, as far as I'm concerned, so what would be the point in bringing anything up?” He didn't wait for a reply. “Yeah. Exactly. Shut up.”

Dipper, if for a brief moment, considered licking his hand in order to make him pull it away, like how those people did in cartoons, but stopped upon remembering it was both _completely unsanitary_ and probably wouldn't work at all. So he waited, making sure to keep his lips pressed tightly into a fine, thin line to prevent any of Bill's disgusting hand germs from getting into his mouth and giving him nasty, deadly diseases.

However, to his luck, Bill's grip loosened as the time went on. Which, admittedly, would've been nice if the reason for that wasn't his expression gradually becoming more and more pained. But he finally _did_ pull his hand away, thank whatever celestial being was out there somewhere.

Then he whispered, so quietly that Dipper didn't hear him, “You… You make me feel safe, you know.”

And that was it. That was all it took. _Those_ words were what did it. _Those_ words came in like an incredibly sharp knife, stabbing the younger male in the chest so hard and deep that they might as well have killed him on the spot. _Those_ words were just enough to shut down every single organ and cell in his body, then restart them, _then_ shut them down a second time.

He opened his mouth to speak but, incapable of coming up with what would be the best possible thing to say in the mood of the situation, closed it again and instead hitched a breath at the downright _depressing_ look in Bill Cipher's eyes, a look that impaled him in the chest immediately after those words of admittance did.

“It's fine.” Bill whispered, his voice lower and smaller than it had been before, as if he had been reading the brunet's mind- which he probably could, as crazy as the idea sounded. His gaze felt as if it were penetrating Dipper's entire being, so it wouldn't have been too surprising. “You don't have to say anything. But it's true.” He muttered, leaning closer until his face was mere centimeters away from Dipper's. “You made me feel safe when I was panicking, and you still make me feel safe now. Thank you.”

“Y-You're v-very welcome, Bill.” Dipper stammered in reply, placing his hands firmly on Bill's chest and attempting to push the older male away, to no avail. “I appreciate it, but you don't need to be so close to me. You're in my personal space.”

“I'm pretty sure I know that.”

 _Asshole._ “O-Oh. Okay, then. Good. We've established that.” Dipper said, his fingers twitching in a type of anxious energy. He didn't move his hands, only continuing to push at the older male. “But, uh, would you mind getting _out_ of my personal space? No offense or anything, but you're awfully close. Not that that's a bad thing.” He quickly chimed, gulping. “I kind of need to breath.” His last word came out sounding more so like a sharp gasp, as Bill had leaned in and was pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was nothing more than a peck, brief and swift, and _damn_ if it hadn't jumpstarted Dipper's heart to race at an impossible speed.

“I think I'm going to have a heart attack," he squeaked, to which Bill simply laughed silently, as if it were a joke. But Dipper didn't _feel_ like he had been joking. In fact, what he stated was meant to be taken as the exact opposite of a joke- he had never been more serious about anything in his entire life.

Whatever he had wanted to say next was mercilessly washed away from his lips, Bill moving to press another quick kiss to his jawbone. Then another one. And another, and another, leaving the brunet left to wonder what the hell was happening.

“Bill…” was all that Dipper managed once the reality of the moment caught up with him. His eyes slipped shut despite his brain screaming at him, telling him that he needed to go and run away as fast and far as physically possible. His hands moved from the blond's chest to his shoulder as the gentle kisses slowly and carefully began to trail down his neck.

Seconds passed, and he was aware of the sound of Bill laughing once again, but something was wrong. It sounded out of place. It sounded like it didn't belong. It sounded _distant,_ as if it belonged to a whole other world entirely.

It was because of this that he shot open his eyes, sitting upright suddenly with an amount of force he didn't know he was even capable of mustering. And, to his undeniable amount of horror and disgusted surprise, his dorm roommate was no longer hovering overtop him, peppering him with kisses that were much too good to be true (which they really _were_ ). No- instead the asshole was standing at the side of Dipper's bed, one of his hands in his hair and his head thrown back as he cackled insanely. He radiated that all too familiar aura of being overly pleased with himself.

“Oh… Oh my _God,_ kid! You're literally _drooling._ ”

Dipper, now blushing a beet red color, rubbed away the sting of saliva that had been dripping down to his chin with the back of one hand. He shook his head in confusion after, wiping that hand on his jeans as he tried to reassess every event that had occurred in the past five minutes. _Wait. If Bill was on my bed just a few seconds ago, then how did he get over the-_

He shook his head again once he had hit a realization. _No, no. Nononononono. No._ This was a  humiliating hit on what dignity he had left. He _couldn't_ have been… had he…

Bill finally lowered his head and wiped a nonexistent tear from one of his eyes. Grinning a bit sickly, he removed his hand from his hair and allowed it to drop down to his side. “So I'm guessing you had a nice nap, Pine Tree?” he asked. “Or, rather, a nice _dream,_ to be more specific?” And that in itself was enough to get him to snort and break out into another laughing fit.

Dipper suddenly wanted to die. “What the wha- How...How long have you been standing there? Were you _watching me sleep_?”

“Gross, no. I was only standing here long enough to have noticed that you were sleeping and wave my hand in your face to get you to wake up. Long enough, also, to have heard you say _my name._ ” Bill added with a wink, causing the brunet to bury his face in his hands and groan. “Awe, don't be like that, Pine Tree! To be totally honest with you, I can't blame you for having a dream about me. I know, I know, I'm just _that_ amazing.”

“I am going to throttle you.” Dipper murmured through the spaces between his fingers, wishing for death incredibly hard. _Why do these things keep happening to me?_ But, as much as he hated to admit it, it did make sense that… those events had been nothing more than a figment of his overactive imagination. It most certainly did explain why everything had felt so off. _Ugh._

“Why on Earth would you want to throttle me, when he can just reenact the dream you had?” Bill suggested, unhelpfully so. Dipper was sure that, if he could see Bill right now, the blond would be wiggling his eyebrows. “No doubt it would be a nice change of things!”

“That would be the exact opposite of nice.” Dipper shot back with a lot more defense than he had intended, lifting his face from his hands and looking at Bill head-on for the first time since he'd woken up. He had to double take at the sight of the older male, blinking rapidly before he managed to ask, “What _happened_ to you? Did a rainbow, like, hunt and shoot you down?”

Of course, he knew that Bill was an aspiring artist, but this was ridiculous. The older male's normally blond hair was flecked with blue, red, and orange paint, so much so that it would be possible for someone to mistake him to be wearing a multicolored wig. His plain white tee was covered in just as much, if not more, paint than his hair was, though the fact that it would never be able to come out was saddening, to say the least; whereas there were his black jeans, that were fortunate enough to only have a few blue splotches here and there. His hands were completely coated in black paint, the worst part of his appearance, as if he had dipped them in a bucket of paint. A (strangely clean) piece of paper was held protectively in his right hand, which he squeezed lightly every now and again, causing it to make a soft rustling noise.

He seemed to consider the question he had been asked. “Hmmm. Hard to say. I might as well have.The majority of the artsy kids that go to this school are super clean, but, as you can see-” He stopped to gesture to his messy form with the hand holding the paper, “I am obviously not one of the majority.”

“What did you do to get yourself covered in paint, anyway?” Dipper questioned, secretly glad and relieved to be past the topic as his dream. In fact, as far as he was concerned, it had never happened in the first place. “Did you start a food fight, but with paint? A paint fight?”

Bill chortled. “Ha ha ha, I _wish_ it could have been as simple as that," he said and, with his free hand, reached up to his hair, tugging for a moment before he pulled out a red glob of paint roughly the size of a golf ball. “Acrylic paint. It's like plastic when it dries. Not gonna be easy to wash out when that happens," he mumbled, seemingly to himself, tossing the glob into the nearest trash can. Then he looked back at Dipper and, pulling more gooey, semi-dry stuff out of his hair as he spoke, said, “I was just helping a few of the other guys get things ready for the dance. You know, doing the hard part. Making the decorations and hanging them up and such…” He sighed. “I was in charge of painting some of these cool backgroud-y things they're gonna be putting out. When it's all done and ready, the gym will look like a scene straight out of a horror movie.”

“Hold on for a minute. Dance? What dance? I thought that dances were supposed to be, like, a high school kind of thing?” Dipper asked, very dumbfounded. He sat upright and raised a brow at Bill, who looked amused at the nature of the questions.

“Well, yes, dances _are_ a high school thing. But this is more of a morale situation. You know, ‘Don't hate college, kids! This is only the last bit of freedom you have before responsibility is thrown into your lap! You can have fun here! We have _fun_ here!’” Bill handed Dipper the rolled up piece of paper he had been holding. “Honestly, though, I'm surprised you didn't know about it. They have these things hanging up all over the place.”

Frowning slightly, Dipper unrolled the paper carefully, ignoring the tiny bits of black paint that were on it, and began to read. He couldn't help but be reminded of the invitation to Pyronica and 8 Ball's party a few months back. The only things that differed between that invitation and this, though, was the fact that this was a school sponsored event and that the decorations were more so on the Halloween side, with Jack-O-Lanterns and witch silhouettes and such.

 

**_8th Annual Halloween Fright-All-Night Dance!_**

**_October 31st, 6-9 P.M._ **

**_Costume contest* held between 8 and 9._ **

**_Food and drinks provided._ **

**_Be there or be scared!_**

_*Costumes are not actually required to go to the dance._

 

Dipper cringed at the terrible puns, but rolled up the paper and handed it back to Bill nonetheless. “Sounds pretty cool, I suppose. I mean, I love Halloween and everything, but I don't dance, so it isn't really my cup of tea…”

Bill scoffed, as if the thought of Dipper not being able to dance was hilarious. “Oh, come on, Pine Tree! Don't be ridiculous! Nobody who goes to dances _actually_ knows how to dance! That's what makes it fun, stupid. Everyone gets to be an idiot together.” And, with a mad smirk, he added, “But if knowing how to dance means so much to you, I could teach you. Not to brag or anything-” He did a quick, five step tap dance, then kicked high enough that one of his shoes went flying off his foot and across the room. “-but I can bust a move. ...And, uh, don't mind that last part. My lace was undone.”

A light laugh emitted from the younger male. “You drive a hard and very convincing bargain.” He said. “I'll try to take your offer into consideration.”

“Oooh, it's settled, then! We could go to the store and get you the best costume-”

“Don't get ahead of yourself.” Dipper interrupted. “I never said I wanted to get into costume.”

Then, when a sudden reminder dinged in his mind, the smile on his face fell away and he said, “But, uh, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Awh, shoot. Alright. What's up?”

Despite it all, Dipper couldn't bring himself to speak. _Especially_ seeing as the blond looked so positively happy and energetic, like he had just had one of the best days of his entire life. Normally attempting to take Mabel's advice would have been nice and simple, yes, but not at a time like this- what kind of person would he be, taking away Bill's good mood and forcing him to talk about an unsettling topic?

 _Sorry, Mabel._ He thought.

He forced a smile. “I’m ready for those dancing lessons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get it? Love is _fantastical?_ Dipper had a fantasy? Huh? Huh? ~~This is the part when you laugh.~~
> 
> The next chapter is gonna be lit as fuck. All I need to do now is learn how to write dancing, haha...


	18. Love is Mystical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super slow update. Life has been kicking my ass a lot and I start 10th grade soon, so I expect updates to stay like this from here on out.
> 
> That aside, look at this amazing fan art by [ValeriZombie!](http://valerizombie.tumblr.com/post/147372088588/bill-from-lis-featheredkit) I mean, seriously, I could not imagine a more beautiful drawing of my art son.
> 
> Technically there are two dances in this chapter, but the second one at the end is what really matters. The song you need for it is right [here.](https://youtu.be/XgJFqVvb2Ws) (My judgment is kinda clouded, so I'm not exactly sure if this song fits well. Tell me if it doesn't.)
> 
> Also, apologies because I may or may not have forgotten that this was supposed to be the Happy Chapter. But everything after this is 92% angst so I still consider this chapter pretty lighthearted.

As if the long and tiring mile-length walk to the college campus for the dance wasn't bad enough in itself to begin with, it just _had_ to be done on the final day of October, and without being able to have anything warm to wear to shield from the cold, like a jacket or a cozy sweater or even Bill's cigarette and weed scented hoodie. Dipper's legs had begun to grow hard and heavy along the way, probably around the halfway point. They somehow managed to both burn from the tiresome trek and tremble from the crisp autumn night air, an agonizing combination of different pains.

But, in all honesty, the pain in his legs and the deadly cold was not what the freshman would consider to be ‘the worst of it.’

No, not even close to it. If he were to have the chance to complain about this night at a later date (which he was more than certain Bill would not allow him a moment of time to do), he would describe ‘the worst of it' as having to carry the stupid axe with him the entire walk.

It wasn't that this said axe was too heavy for him to carry, per say. Of course not. It was just that, for something that was completely fake and made out of plastic, he found it a surprise how it was but a _little_ heavier than he would have at first expected it to be.

However heavy it _might_ have been, though, the problem he faced was how that during his unwanted trek it began to feel more and more like dead weight in his hand. So he weakened his grasp on the damn thing and simply allowed it to hang in a limp manner, causing it to make a scraping sound as it dragged across the hard concrete ground. That combined with how slowly he walked and the blank light in his eyes made him look like an extra in some sort of zombie movie- which, in technical terms, he was _supposed_ to be. Because he _was_ a zombie, to his great disappointment… thank goodness, only for the night.

He'd been a zombie for Halloween before. This wasn't a new experience to him. But the process of getting into costume had been the _worst._ Especially the part that had involved giving him the zombie-ish skin tone. Bill was the one who'd done this task, which was basically the sole reason why it had been so horrible and tedious and time consuming. The blond had used a terribly small paint brush to give him the gray zombie complexion that morning, using light and careful strokes and working in an oh so slow manner, saying things akin to “Art takes time, so be patient.” and “Hey, be glad that I'm nice and decided not to charge you for this.” whenever the younger male was to whine or protest to anything, all the while strategically avoiding and ignoring any questions asked about what _he_ was going as to the dance. 

“Hmmm, I don't wanna tell. It would be _much_ more exciting if I kept that as a surprise, wouldn't you say?” he had replied after Dipper asked for a hint for the umpteenth time. A shit-eating grin had adorned his features then, the bright glint in his eyes growing twice it size as he lowered the brush and smeared some of the brunet's face paint on his thumb playfully. “You'll find out what I'm going as at the dance tonight. And what I've chosen to be isn't what you would expect it to be, I swear.”

And, before Dipper had to so much as even manage to open his mouth and say something in return to this, the senior quickly tacked the nail on the wall with, “By the way, you still owe me that dance. You know, from Py and 8 Ball's shit party, when we ditched the place after… yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I haven't forgotten about it. Asking you to dance, I mean. We'll finally be able to see how all those dancing lessons paid off, huh?”

Bill had returned to work as the last word slipped from his lips, and that was the end of the discussion.

Dipper groaned, muttering words that would have caused his parents to pour soap in his mouth, and lifted his axe off the ground with a little bit of effort, heaving it over his shoulder and continuing to walk.

The dancing practice with Bill had always taken place after they were both finished with their homework, and that was a whole other story entirely. The first couple of days had been the worst of it, Dipper being flustered at how _close_ he was to Bill and _not at all_ comfortable with how it filled his chest and stomach with these weird warm fuzzy things… and it was because of these stupid fuzzies that he always kept making mistakes and ruining everything- stepping on Bill's toes, constantly stumbling over his _own_ feet, and falling backwards on occasion due to him trying to lean away from his roommate and allow more breathing space. Bill usually just laughed it off and told him not to worry about it, but everytime something went wrong and he had to bring Dipper back into proper dancing position by moving his hands and such, there was this slight clench in his jaw that basically expressed how frustrated he really was.

Dipper decided on the first day to take the said clench in Bill's jaw as a sort of aspiration to improve his dancing skills… and quickly, at that.

Fortunately for him, it was _after_ the first few days of practice that things had begun to pick themselves up. Dipper wasn't as clumsy with his steps and his moves grew to be less and less choppy and “out of tune,” as Bill called it. And, although he promised himself he would never admit it to Bill, the practice started to become something along the lines of _fun._ He even found that he was smiling every so often, which, not so fortunately, Bill seemed to have noticed once or twice as well.

“Awe, I think you're warming up to me!” the blond had teased him one day during practice, that stupid shit-eating grin on his stupid face.

“Shut up.” was all that Dipper could've thought to reply with.

But none of that information really mattered right now, in the present, because  _right now_ his lungs were beginning to grow the exact same type of  simultaneous burning/freezing sensation that his legs did, only ten time worse. It felt as if they were going to simply burst at any given moment, and he hadn't even been running. _Man, I wish I was half as athletic and full of energy as Mabel is._ He thought quite bitterly, stopping his horrible trudge for a few seconds to angrily shake the sleep out of one of his legs.

He wondered for the thousandth time what his roommate was doing right now, and why it was so important that he had to have left the dorm room in such a huge rush. _Hopefully he's just getting his costume at the last minute and not, like, making drug deals or anything. I am_ not _dancing with a guy that smells like cocaine or crack or anything._ It only took the mere thought alone to make him shiver involuntarily and smell the drugs vividly (though, admittedly, part of the reason he shivered was probably just because of the cold).

And oh goodness, was it cold. In temperature as low as this, Dipper would have settled on wearing attire that was made with thick material and actually _warmed him up._ But no, of course not. Bill had insisted on him wearing the clothes that fit the part. And it just so happened to be the brunet's luck that the clothes that “fit the part” consisted of a T-shirt that was ripped at the edges of the sleeve and stomach, along with a pair of blue jeans that were _also_ ripped, but at the knees and ankles. There was also a pair of battered shoes and a sash to hold the axe on his back to complete the zombified look- but, in all honesty, Dipper was feeling less like an “undead person” and more like a “very well alive but might as well be dead hobo.” The paint on his arms had itched since it dried, and he was tempted to scratch at it, but resisted upon realizing that it would only wind up ruining Bill's hard work- and God forbid him doing something as horrible as _that._

Finally snapping out of his deep thoughts, Dipper couldn't possibly find the words to describe the amount of sheer relief he felt when he realized he had passed through the gates of the school and onto the campus grounds.

After finally using the sash to secure the plastic axe on his back instead of holding it any longer, he broke off into a sprint and to the entrance to the school, using the last bit of energy that he could muster. He had to push past a few loitering people in order to get to the front door, and he successfully ignored the grunts of complaints and every single “Hey!” he received for doing so. Once inside, he collapsed against the nearest closed door, one to a disease lab. He clutched his chest, taking deep, slow breaths to allow himself a moment to breathe for the first time in half an hour.

He lowered the hand from his chest and used it to pull the flier for the dance out of one of his jean pockets. He unfolded it carefully, then turned it over and eyeballed the location it read on the back one last time.

The gymnasium. Seemed like the simplest possible place to have a dance, aside from maybe one in the auditorium or outside in the football field (but the weather wouldn't have permitted for anyone to go outside, anyway). Dipper assumed that the staff had found an efficient way to block off all the sports equipment from the students, for reasons that should have been obvious. Which was likely the reason why they were having it there. And the bit with Bill saying they were going to make the place look like something straight out of a horror movie… He wondered how _that_ was supposed to work out- but, seeing as he knew the raw talent of some of the artists that went to this school, including Bill, he didn't think achieving something like this would be impossible.

Once he had managed to regain his breath and the agonizing burning/freezing sensation in his lungs and legs had dispersed, he folded up the paper into a square, like it had been previously, and returned it to his pocket. Then he stood up straight and adjusted the sash so the weight of the axe was less unbearable, all before he pushed away from the lab door and took a right turn down into the corridor that lead into the gym.

As a way to put it simply, he didn't expect to have to wait in a line.

It wasn't just that the line leading into the gym was long. Because it was _long_ \- so long, in fact, that it was leading down into the hall and ended only a few feet away from where Dipper was currently standing. _Apparently a lot of students decided that they wanted to go to the dance._ He mused, stuffing his hands into his pockets in order to prevent himself from picking at the paint on his arms. Instead he bit down on his bottom lip and kneaded in underneath his upper teeth, stepping casually behind the last person in the line. He had the urge to sigh, but managed to hold it in. _Seems like Bill's gonna be waiting for me for a while, huh_  

“Seriously? What the heck? You're not even in costume? Wow, way to kill the fun of this, pal. Like, I know that the flier says that costumes aren't a requirement to come here, but it would still be nice if everyone got in costume, ya know?”

 _Pyronica._ Dipper recognized her voice almost immediately, shooting his head upright and sweeping his gaze around the area, seeing if he could be able to find her anywhere. _She would know where Bill is._ But, as hard as he looked, he couldn't quite see her anywhere in the line of people. Even though he had heard her so clearly… She must've been nearby, right? Without thinking, he placed one of his hands one the shoulder of the guy who was standing in front of him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” the guy snapped, shoving the freshman away before turning back towards the line.

Dipper had almost made a snarky remark about him not being in costume in return, but was cut off just short of opening his mouth and letting the words slip out when Pyronica's voice came again.

“Hey, you! Yes, you! Stop rubbing your ass against his crotch! This is a _college dance,_ not private time for you to get reckless! The head of this school specifically told me to make sure there was absolutely _no twerking_ at this dance, and I sure as hell am going to listen! Cut it out or you're out!”

This time, Dipper's mind came to process that she wasn't actually nearby. She was using a microphone, or something alike to a microphone, to make herself louder over the sounds of people speaking in the line and the music blasting in the gym.

The freshman directed his gaze to the front of the line, where he felt certain she was, and squinted. _Surely_ that was where her voice had originated from- and this theory was confirmed correct when he caught the slightest glimpse of bright pink, then a form in black robes, directly in front of the gym doors, which were propped open. He guessed that Pyronica was probably monitoring the doors, giving the A-OK for people to go inside.

“Jesus Christ, man! Who wears a vampire costume with _glowing_ fangs anymore? What are you, five years old?” Then she laughed. “Yo, dude, I'm just messing with you. Those fangs are pretty cool, to be honest- I _love_ the color green. Go on in. Have fun!”

Losing his train of thought for the second time that night, Dipper broke apart from the line and went to the side, running up to where Pyronica was standing. Of course, this earned him an uproar of protest from the people who were standing on line like they were supposed to. A fair share of items were thrown in his direction, which for the most part missed him- including someone's shoe.

“Pyronica!” he shouted over the noise as he reached her, which was hard to do, to say the least. He could barely even hear his own voice, let alone anything that came into his mind. How could Pyronica possibly hear him?

But, much to his shock, she _did_ hear him. This was confirmed when she tensed and then swiveled around to face him, the megaphone she had been holding raised over her head like she was expecting a fight from somebody.

She was dressed up as a witch. The black robes Dipper had picked up on before covered her right down to her toes, swaying gracefully as she moved. The sleeves on the robes were a bit too long for her, as they fell over her hands when she eventually lowered her arms down to her sides, and had huge holes that exposed some of the skin underneath the fabric. And, lastly, there was her witch hat, that was also quite big on her and fell over her eyes a little. Her hair was as pink as ever, but tonight there was some black dyed in with it as well.

“Hey, asshole!” she shouted at Dipper, who had to double take at being addressed so rudely by someone he considered a friend. Thankfully she wasn't using the megaphone, because she was loud enough on her own. “This isn't some line cutting party, you know? Why don't you go back to the end of that line there and wait like everybody el-” Suddenly she stopped short in her scold and blinked. A grin blew up over her features. “Oh my gosh, it's Dipper! Sorry, I didn't recognize you for a second there. Here!” She gestured for him to come closer, which he did.

“How are you doing?” Dipper asked awkwardly, not entirely sure of what else to start a conversation with.

“I could always be better or worse, honestly.” The cheer captain replied immediately, her icy blue eyes wide. She toyed with the megaphone in her hands. “Gotta be happy, live every single moment you have to the best of your ability, you know. But to fuck with the philosophy shit.” She raked her eyes over Dipper's figure slowly. “Zombie. Nice. I haven't seen too many of those today.”

“How the hell are you just letting that stupid fish cut the line!” Someone in the line screeched.

Pyronica clicked her tongue in distaste and smiled at Dipper apologetically. “Give me one second, love," she said, then turned in the direction of the person who'd yelled at her and brought the megaphone to her lips. Dipper took the hint and covered his ears as she began, “Excuse you, but he's my assistant! My buddy, my chum, my little bro, my bestie for the night! He's helping me keep all you crazy people in line! Both metaphorically _and_ literally!  Now keep your bra on tight, sissy! You’re going to give yourself a heart attack!” And, not waiting for anyone to argue, she lowered the megaphone and turned back to Dipper, a sweet smile on her face. “Again, I'm terribly sorry. You have to be assertive to deal with people like them.”

“T-That's absolutely fine.” Dipper stammered stupidly.

Pyronica smirked at this in amusement, running a fingertip over the smooth plastic of the megaphone in such a careful manner, as if it were her baby. Which, in retrospect, she most likely did consider it to be. “Inside the gym is the real party," she said, loud enough for Dipper to just barely hear her. “I hope you have your dancing shoes on tight, especially if William's your roommate.” She blinked again. “Speaking of William, where is he? I thought you two would come here together, taking into consideration the whole boyfriend cover up and all.”

The slight smile that had grown over Dipper's lips fell upon hearing those words. “You mean… You don't know where he is? If anyone knew, I figured it would be you." 

Pyronica questioningly raised one of her perfectly trimmed brows. “And here I was, figuring _you_ would know where he is. You're his _roommate._ ” She let out a soft sigh. “It's perfectly fine, though. Don't worry about it too much. He usually walks off without warning like this. When was the last time you saw him?”

Dipper reached up with one hand and raked a few of his fingers through his unkempt hair as he looked about a bit desperately, as if expecting his roommate to pop in out of nowhere. “Uh, the last time I saw him was a few hours ago," he started, slowly at first. He trailed off, only continuing when Pyronica waved one of her hands impatiently in a ‘go on' gesture. “In our dorm room. He, uh, he told me that he had to go take care of a few things. He told me to go to the dance alone, that he would meet me here. After he said that he kind of just… stormed out of the room.” He dropped his hand from his hair and instead used it to tighten the sash. “That's it, I swear," he insisted when Pyronica's expression grew a doubtful edge.

The chest captain waved a few costumed students into the cafeteria in a carefree manner, saying, “Well, I'm going to be completely honest with you. That _does_ sounds like something William would do because he's an idiot and, henceforth, tends to do idiotic things on impulse. Unfortunately, though, I have a hard time trusting him alone. Hold this.” Without warning she thrusted the megaphone at Dipper, who attempted to carefully took it with his shaky hands. Then she fished a phone out of a fold in her robes and tapped the screen one, two, or three times before finally pressing it against her ear. Some seconds passed in which she held it there in silence and waved in a few more students- and, eventually, she rolled her eyes in obvious frustration and groaned, returning the mobile device to her robes. “Nope, he isn't picking up. What a fucking jackass.”

“Where do you think he would be right now?” Dipper tried to helpfully offer, handing her back her megaphone and beginning to pull at his sash again out of nervousness. “Like, what are the places he usually goes to? I could try to go searching for him there before the dance is over.” He checked his watched, a habit of his. It was 6:15. _Still plenty of time._

“Hm. Let me see…” Pyronica pursed her lips in deep thought for a moment or two. “If I were William, which I'm not, I'd probably be helping some of the other art students right now. You know, cleaning out the room now that they don't need anymore of the stuff for the dance.” And, waving her megaphone madly, she tacked on, “But in the case that he isn't there, go check culinary arts. He made some of the food for the dance, too, so he _might_ be cleaning up in there. Might. Don't hold anything against me if I'm wrong. But if I happen to be incorrect in both of my cases…” She once again took out her phone.  “Stay in one of the culinary arts rooms. I'll text you when I find out where he is, okay? But, uh, what's your number?”

Dipper reluctantly disclosed that information to her. Seeming pleased, she stashed away her phone. “Ah, thank you sweetie. Very good. When I get the opportunity, I'll try to get in contact with Tad or 8 Ball to see if either one of them know where he is.”

 _So I guess I might not get that dance with him, after all,_ Dipper thought. But all he said in reality was, “Sounds like he did a lot of work preparing for the dance.”

“Oh, yes. Definitely. Word to the wise, kid: Lots of people expect lots of impossible things from you when you're popular," the pink-haired girl replied, as if there wasn't the issue of a twenty-one year old blond missing in action. “I can relate to this, being the captain of the cheer team and all. It can actually be really stressful at times. Really, _really_ stressful.” She smiled sadly. “So cut him a break or two every once in awhile.”

Dipper could only think to bite down on his bottom lip, not sure how to respond with anything but a short nod. “Yeah, okay," he said, his voice so quiet and soft that he wasn't even sure Pyronica would have been able to hear him. And then he forced a small smile and shot her an awkward wave in farewell, turning and walking off in the direction opposite of the gym… and the dance. He didn't wind up looking back until he had turned a corner into the art wing, which was when he could _finally_ no longer hear the loud blasting of the music in the cafeteria and Pyronica yelling at innocent students through her megaphone.

He couldn't help feeling a sense of dread the entire walk across the school. _I honestly should have figured that something was going to go wrong._ Walking up towards the nearest art room, he, without thought, moved to turn the knob first- and, discovering that the door was locked, glanced inside through the window. Only a few students were in the room- four, from what he could see, anyway- and one of them a dark-haired female, who was rushing around in an apparent frenzy, in one of her hands the possession of a large, rolled up poster board.

Dipper reached over and knocked on the door gently with his knuckles. The frenzied girl with the poster board was the one who answered the door.

She seemed annoyed. “What do you want? Unless the world is ending, I don't have time for this. Besides, shouldn't you be, like, dancing your ass off or something?” She questioned, leaning against the doorframe casually. Her eyes examined Dipper. “Huh. So you're a zombie.” She didn't sound impressed.

“Sorry to bother you. I'm looking for someone. He's an artist like you.” Dipper tried to keep his explanation brief as to keep her attention. He occasionally tried to gaze past her and into the room as he spoke, but her head moved in the way to block his view each time. “Uh, his name is B- I mean, William Cipher.”

The girl frowned deeply at the mention of Bill's name. “Nope. I haven't seen him since… a few days ago, I believe. And, even if he _was_ here right now, he sure as hell wouldn't be helping us clean up this mess. In fact, he'd just make it one hundred times worse. Good riddance.”

“Oh… Well, thanks for your help. I-” Dipper started to say, but was cut off abruptly at a door being slammed in his face. _Great talking to you,_ he thought, shaking his head in frustration and heading over to the next art room.

After searching for Bill in the rest of the rooms, he came out with absolutely no success. None of the students he spoke with had any idea where his roommate was- and, quite frankly, most of them seemed relieved to tell him that. Apparently being a messy painter was a crime.

After being kicked out of the final art room, he finally let out the sigh that had been trapped in his chest. He walked on to culinary arts to continue his search, having no other plan than to follow Pyronica's instructions.

He could barely contain the strangled sound that formed in his throat when he checked his watch on the way there.

6:52 P. M.

 _Boy, time sure does fly by fast when you're looking for your missing dorm roommate,_ he figured. _But that also means there's only about an hour left until the dance is over and the costume contest starts._

Basically all the culinary arts rooms were locked tight with the lights shut off on the inside. But, much to his convenience, one of them had its door propped open with a piece of wood. Dipper took it as his opportunity to slip inside the room- and, once inside, he was hit straight-on with the sweet, sweet, heavenly aroma of delicious goods. Cake right out of the oven, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, cherry pie, and the like. Why anyone would want to willingly make these treats for  _other_ people and not just eat themselves was way beyond Dipper's comprehension, but he figured it would be best if he didn't hurt himself by thinking too much about it.

There was only one person other than him in the room, he came to notice, a female who had her back to him, seemingly too distracted to notice his entrance. She was humming happily as she wiped down a stove with a white wash rag, tapping one foot against the ground in tune to a pop song Dipper vaguely remembered hearing on the radio once or twice.

The girl was in a costume, dressed up as a fairy tale princess (or something of the sorts). The pink dress she was wearing was pooffy and littered with sparkles and covered her feet, preventing whatever kind of shoes she was adorning from being seen- though Dipper was sure that they were expensive and sparkly as well. There was something silver and shiny placed upon her head, probably a tiara, and her hair was tied neatly into a high, fancy blonde bun. For a moment Dipper couldn't help but wonder why someone as fancy as that would risk getting anything on such a nice dress by cleaning food stains, but that thought ceased to matter when he had gotten in close enough proximity to the girl to recognize who she was.

 _Wait. Could it be…_ “Pacifica?” he dared to ask aloud, resisting the urge to reach over and plant a hand on one of her shoulders- because, in the case that he happened to be wrong about who this was, then the action would have turned out to be very, very awkward.

But, apparently, his assumption had been correct. The girl (or, rather, Pacifica) jumped upright at the mention of her name and turned around to face Dipper. “W-Whoa. ... _Oh._ It's just you. I… Hello.” A nervous smile spread over her reddened lips and she balled up the rag she'd been using and threw it behind herself. Even through her white gloves Dipper could see that her fingers had a sort of nervous twitch to them, as if she were terrified of something. “I didn't… I mean, I don't… Um…” She laughed. “This isn't what it looks like, I swear.”

Dipper absently began to scratch at one of his arms. “Are you sure about that?” Of course, the question wasn't intended to be asked in a rude way. “Because it kinda looks to me like you were-”

“It kinda looks to you like I was cleaning. Yes, okay. Fine.” Pacifica held up her hands in an _I give up_ gesture. “Alright. Alright, you got me. I… I admit it. I like to help out the culinary arts kids sometimes because I am a firm believer that cooking is a fun pastime. And by sometimes I mean often. And by often I mean, like, every single day of the week often. I'd, um, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone.” Then she went silent for what felt like an eternity and a half before she picked up with, “Hey, shouldn't you be at the dance? _Dancing?_ You make a pretty cute zombie, by the way.”

“Uh, thank you… for the compliment. And I _would_ be at the dance right now, if it wasn't for- Um, you see, I'm looking for…” Dipper lost his words. _What am I expected to say to her? She and Bill despise each other. Why would she care about Bill missing in action?_ “I'm looking for a friend.” He finally managed. “But I guess he isn't here, so I'll just be out of your hair. Have fun cleaning.” He then turned on the heels of his ugly, worn out sneakers to make his leave before the world decided to work against him and make things awkward. The absolute _last_ thing he wanted to happen was for Pacifica to be around when Bill showed himself; that would only result in a horrible repeat of the party.

“I'm not an idiot, Dipper. You're looking for Bill, aren't you?” Pacifica guessed, her tone dry and sour, causing Dipper to stop dead in his tracks and reluctantly glance back at her. She crossed her arms over her chest. But, surprisingly enough, her expression was more so exhausted than angry or irritated at the mention of Bill.

“Yeah. You caught me.” Dipper admitted, releasing a low and heavy breath through his nose. “Is there a chance that you might have… Have you see him anywhere around here? Or, really, anywhere at all in the past few hours?”

The faux princess shook her head almost instantly, her bright eyes filled with a type of emotion that could possible come to be interpreted as _sympathy._ “In all honestly, no. If I _had_ seen him around here, I might be in the hospital right now.” Which was, although sad to admit, a very good point. “I haven't seen him since the party.” Adjusting the tiara on her head, she corrected herself quickly. “Well, I have _seen_ him, but never, like, talked to him or ever been in close contact of any kind with him because of… reasons.” She cleared her throat in a regal manner. “But, no, I haven't actually _seen_ him once today. I'm the only one here at the moment. Any other students that were here cleaning out this room went to the dance.”

“Why didn't you go to the dance?” Dipper questioned.

Laughing defensively, Pacifica dropped her hands from her chest and waved one in a dismissive manner. “My goodness. Me? Dance? Oh, no, I don't like dancing. That isn't necessarily my cup of tea. Mind you-” She flattened a few nonexistent folds in her perfect dress. “-I'm in this costume for the contest they're holding after the dance at eight. I intend to win first place in it… Erm, or rather, my _dad_ is the one who expects me to win first place in it.” Her shoulders slumped sadly, in such a way that Dipper felt bad for her (if only a little). “My dad expects me to win at everything. Also, another reason I'm not dancing is because he doesn't want me to dance with anyone here. Apparently I'm above dancing with people ‘like them.’”

“Do you usually allow your dad to step up and take control of you like that?” Dipper blurted out without much of a thought, a little bit of his frustration bubbling past the surface. “Because your dad is _sort of_ the reason why Bill wound up losing his apartment, and why he hates you with a burning passion.”

Pacifica's eyes widened if for but a second. Then she sucked in air through her teeth, her gaze roaming around the room in search of a distraction, meeting everything in the general area that wasn't Dipper. “So,” she stated simply, “I'm guessing Bill got enough guts to tell you about that. I'm not gonna lie, I kind of expected him to do that.” And, upon her gaze finally meeting Dipper's, she added, “Look, I know what you're thinking, and I get it. But my dad was just, you know, being a good dad and protecting me. I _tried_ talking to him after what happened at the fraternity party, I truly did, but he didn't listen to me. And what he did to Bill wasn't at all moral or legal, but-” She cast her head downwards apologetically. “I don't understand half of it. Trust me, I've tried saying sorry to Bill in the past, but he never listened to me, either. Nobody _ever_ listens to me- though, in this case, it's just probably because guys in general are terrible listeners. No offense.” She finished quickly, like she had to have reminded herself that Dipper was, in fact, a male.

“None taken. I think.” Dipper replied, slightly taken aback by her sudden bout of confession. From having to put up with a shut-in like Bill for the past couple of months, he wasn't particularly used to someone being able to admit to such sensitive topics so freely and easily. _Maybe it's a girl thing._ He assumed. “But, wait. What I'm getting here is that you feel _bad_ about what happened?”

Pacifica wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Ugh. Yes, I suppose you could say that. If you want to word it in such a way, I do feel bad. I feel very, very terrible about what happened. However, the word ‘bad' is such a simplistic word. I'd much rather say that I feel-” She had a moment of hesitation then, placing her hands on her hips. “I'd much rather say that I feel- I mean, I… regret… the poor, impulsive choices that I made. The _mistakes_ that I made while acting on impulse.” She reached up with one hand and pinched her nose- in the exact same way that Bill usually did. “Listen here, Dipper. The night my dad brought him to the studio, he was drunk. And me, I was tired, lonely, and desperate. Bad things happen to people that are desperate, you know!”

“Did… you… enjoy it?” Dipper found himself asking, an unfamiliar churning sensation in his gut. It was terrible and gave him an awful, bitter taste in his mouth.

As he feared, Pacifica nodded, if not hesitantly. “Though I hate to have to admit this, yes. I did. More than I would have liked to.” And, before Dipper could even think to speak, “But let's not talk about any of _that_ old stuff! Tonight is supposed to be fun. _Fun,_ as in: The past is full of shitty mistakes that we _learn_ from, mistakes that we shouldn't even be thinking about as we move forward with our lives. So yay, let's move forward!” She smiled in spite of the situation, but it was obviously forced- it was more toothy than anything. “Did I forget to tell you how utterly _cute_ I think you look as a zombie?”

“Uh, no, no. You didn't forget… to tell me… that. Because you told me that before.” Dipper said ever so quietly, the awkwardness of the entire situation making its way down onto his chest. The bitter taste that he had had in his mouth still didn't go away, however. In fact, it only got worse. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, unsure of whether he should speak or not, and looked down at his sneakers. _Why would anyone possibly want to spend money on these?_ He asked himself. 

“I, erm, I didn't know that you could dance.”

He abruptly glanced back up at Pacifica, who was emitting a nervous sort of energy. Her eyes were wide and held a wild light, and she was biting down on one of her gloved fingers. “...Can you repeat that? I didn't hear you.”

Pacifica lolled her head back slightly and shrugged casually- or, at least, she _tried_ to shrug casually. The action came out in more of a half-assed manner. “I don't know, I was... It was only a thought. Like, no offense to your or your ability or anything, but-” She pulled the hand she had in her mouth out and waved it at Dipper. “-you don't exactly seem like the type of guy who knows how to dance. You seem more along the lines of the type of guy who would try to dance but fail and fall on your face a lot. A whole lot.”

“To be honest, I've never been good at dancing… or going to parties or events and stuff and trying to dance at all.” Dipper admitted grimly. “But, uh, I've been getting better at dancing lately. I've been practicing for a total of _hours_ over the past few weeks. So I'd say I'm relatively good at dancing now… if I was an expert on that sort of thing. I mean, I don't think I'm the _best_ of course. Not even great, either. I'm just… good.”

Was it only his imagination, or had Pacifica taken a step closer to him?  He really, really hoped it was his imagination. “You're good? Huh. That's nice to know.” The princess tucked a stray strand of hair behind her hair carefully, but not without twirling it in a finger for a bit first. “I don't know how to dance at all, mind you. My dad says I can only dance at civilized events with other civilized people, but I don't because those events are pretty lame. I think dancing looks fun, though, from what I've seen on television.”

 

“Mm, yeah. Dancing is pretty fun, I guess.”

“In that case, would you mind…” Pacifica didn't finish her statement, instead clicking her tongue and glancing around the room in disinterest. “Would you mind teaching me how to dance? It could be fun, right?” And, when she took in notice of Dipper's latest expression, an expression that displayed quite a bit of confusion and shock, her brows furrowed and he rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, now. Don't get the wrong idea, Pines. It doesn't mean anything, it's just a stupid dance.”

Dipper didn't reply right away. He bit down on his bottom lip and checked his watch once again. 7:17 P.M. That meant there was less than one hour before the dance was over and the costume contest started, and yet Bill was _still_ missing in action. He was almost tempted to fish his phone out of his pocket in a frenzy and check for any possible texts from Pyronica, but convinced himself to resist from completing the action. If Pyronica had texted him by now, he would have felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

It took him another moment more to consider how he should answer Pacifica's question. _Well, to be technical, I_ am _here to dance, so I might as well dance in the little bit of time I have left. It isn't my fault Bill decided not to show up._

Making a decision, he rubbed his surprisingly sweaty palms against his shirt. _If this ends up going completely wrong in any way, I officially hate the universe._

“Yeah, sure, I could teach you how to dance. It isn't hard to do," he told the princess, stepping in gradually closer until he was standing but a few mere centimeters away from her. “So first thing's first, you have to put your hands on my shoulders," he explained as evenly as he could, and helped guide her hands into place. “Okay, good. And next is the part when I put my hands on your waist…”

Pacifica laughed dryly. “So, what are you trying to do here? Give me step-by-step instructions? Do I need a manual to go with that?”

“No. I'm trying to give _myself_ the step-by-step instructions. I never once said I was used to dancing yet.” Dipper replied, ignoring her sarcasm, and quickly glanced down at his feet in order to make sure he wasn't stepping on Pacifica's dress. And, to his relief, he saw that he wasn't. He looked back up to meet her eyes. “Either way, the next step is the last and most important one. We just… dance.” He had no idea why the thought of dancing with Pacifica wanted to make him upchuck.

“Yeah, I think I can get that. But, uh, how?”

“Like I keep telling you, it isn't hard.” While taking a careful, small step in tune a song that wasn't actually playing, he admitted, “It would be easier if we had music, though.”

Following his motions in a sort of way that was way too smooth and fluid to be amatuer, the princess smiled wide- and, unlike the few smiles she had given Dipper previously, this one was less forced and more so on the casual, flippant side. She seemed to be having fun already, and they had barely even started dancing.

“Well, I suppose we're going to have to go with the flow and improvise, then," she said, and began to hum like she'd been doing while cleaning the stove, to a song couldn't quite place regardless of how hard he racked his brain for a connection.

But he chose to push his thoughts aside for the time being and play along, beginning to hum along as well. Despite his best efforts, however, a part of his brain yelled at him at some point, telling him that he was an idiot for doing it and should stop while he had the chance, but he refrained from listening and attempted to simply live in the moment. Because, honestly, what was the worst that could happen?

During their dancing, Pacifica would stop humming to giggle every so often, such as when she would accidentally step on one of both of Dipper's feet (which hurt a hell of a lot more than the brunet could have ever anticipated it to be; it felt like she was wearing Cinderella’s glass slippers, or maybe a pair of those unnecessarily high high heels). And, once or twice (possibly even more times), she happened to tug on Dipper's sash too tightly for his comfort, and he would choke on air from it suddenly tugging on his throat or the axe starting to _really_ pick up on weight again.

Aside from any of that, he didn't have anything at all to complain about.

While in the moment, he began to lose track of the time. Minutes started to blur together. He didn't snap out of it until Pacifica stepped on his right foot for the umpteenth time, causing a splintering, awful pain to shoot up his leg.

 _Now I know how Bill feels,_ he thought, flinching away from the other slightly. _...But that step didn't feel like an accident._

“Sorry, I didn't mean to do it so hard.” Pacifica apologized, her tone laced with guilt. “You were starting to look really spaced out, so I thought I should get your attention. How bad does it hurt?”

“Don't worry about it, it's fine. It doesn't hurt too much.” Dipper lied, wiggling his toes to test if any of them happened to be broken or crushed. Luckily, they felt fine and the pain began to ebb itself away slowly. “Seriously. I'm fine. It's fine.” Then, noting her expression, he asked, “What's wrong?”

Pacifica looked around the room. “I don't know, I just assumed this would be the part when Bill barges into the room and threatens to murder me. You know, because I'm around you and apparently that's a bad thing.” She turned away and stared off into nothing. “And, by the by, I don't necessarily want to have every bone in my body broken before I go to the costume contest.”

“You know,” Dipper tried to begin reasoning, his hands starting to shake unnervingly hard and fast at his sides, so much so that he stuck his fingers in his belt loops to ease it a bit, “Bill's not that bad a guy once you get to know him.” Then he internally cringed at his own poor choice of wording; no, that didn't come out quite right. He was sure Pacifica knew the guy well enough by now to pick up on the fact that he was an asshole. “Uh, wait. I mean, once you get to know the _good_ side of him. Believe it or not, he can actually be pretty level headed and cool when he's not-”

“And as absolutely _darling_ as getting to know him may sound to you-” Pacifica suddenly swiveled around in his direction and cast him a look that was dark, cold, and empty, one that basically told him _You must be delusional._ “-even if I _did_ lose my mind enough to want to be friends with someone like _him-_ someone who, might I remind you, Dipper, is an alcoholic _and_ a drug addict, not to mention an overall complete jerk- how could you possibly expect him to warm up to _me_ enough to show me that ‘nice side' you told me about?” She crossed her arms over her chest again and pouted in a way that was most positively unladylike. “In case you hadn't learned during the party, he isn't exactly the forgiving type of guy.”

Dipper opened his mouth to reply, prepared with words that were potentially reasonable, but was cut short just as the first word began to slip out past his lips by the sudden familiar sensation of his phone vibrating violently in his pocket. With a start, he hastily reached into said pocket and pulled it out, holding his breath in the dear hope that it was a text he was expecting from a certain somebody.

Looking over what it was, he let out the breath at last and brought his phone back into its previous hiding.

“What is it?” Pacifica asked, both capturing his attention and helping him realize she had her gaze fixated on him, her face contorted to give her more of a curious sort of expression.

Dipper barely managed to choke back a gulp. He knew just as well that there was no point in lying to her. It would probably only make matters worse in the end. “Uh, remember like three minutes ago when you said you were nervous about Bill showing up?” he started, settling on first answering her question with a question of his own. “Well, that was a text from one of his friends-” He paused, then, finding his grounding, “It was a text from _Pyronica,_ to be specific, and she said that Bill's on his way here. As in, on his way here right now, in this moment.”

Pacifica seemed to have taken a moment to process this information. “What… What did she say exactly?”

“‘The asshole cometh.’” Dipper quoted.

“Oh, that's fantastic.” Pacifica said in a mirthful tone, moving one of her hands and to cup her face. “I guess I'm going to go to the hospital before the costume contest after all.” Once again, she looked around in the room. “If I were to leave now, do you think I'd wind up bumping into him in the halls? That would be bad.” She _hmm_ ed. “Or do you think I should find some way to hide in here?” Then she shook her head. “No, that's bad, too. I don't think there's a way to hide myself besides stuffing myself in a cabinet, and there's _no way_ I'm going into a cabinet.” And, when her eyes landed on Dipper and she noticed him simply staring at her blankly, she waved her arms very wildly in the air and persisted, “Hey, we're friends! Friends _help_ one another out, right? Be a friend and help me so I don't die. You're the guy with the plans.”

Now it was Dipper who was looking around the room, his eyes gazing over everything carefully and thoroughly, searching for a possible hiding place for his friend… only to find that there wasn't one. At least, not one involving Pacifica _not_ being in a horribly uncomfortable position.

He was about to say such out loud when the room door burst open and Bill stepped inside, looking tired.

If Dipper was being completely honest with himself, he was greatly, _greatly_ relieved to see his roommate despite Pacifica still being in sight. One of the reasons for this amount of relief being that he was _finally_ able to see Bill in costume- and Pyronica wasn't too wrong about him dressing up as something Dipper wouldn't first expect, though he did feel kind of idiotic for not thinking of it before.

The blond male was attired in a white button-up dress shirt that was splattered in what was an almost excessive amount of fake blood (fake blood that also stained his face and hair just a little), along with a black bow tie on the collar and black gloves on his hands. He also wore black (what was with him and the color black today?) pants which looked quite a few decades too late and were darker around the legs in some areas, probably from some more of the fake blood. And then there was the brown leather belt around his waist, though it seemed to be there more so for show rather than stopping his pants from falling down, all come complete with a hopefully fake machete hanging from a clip on one of his belt loops. It kept hitting itself against his thigh as he walked, but he didn't appear to be too bothered by it.

No, instead he had his head coked slightly to one side, seemingly focused on the other two people in the room- well, really, one of those people in particular.

He walked directly past Pacifica Northwest without giving her a second glance and stopped short a few inches in front of Dipper, a humongous, evil grin adorning his facial features.

“So…” His grin impossibly widened. “Whaddya think, kid?” he asked the brunet, casually unclipping the machete from his belt and waving it around carelessly as if it were nothing more than a baby rattle. “I had to go into town last minute to get some blood for this bad boy-” Dipper had no idea whether he was referring to the weapon or the costume. “-and, oh sweet Lord above, was it worth it. How do I look?”

“Like a bloodthirsty serial killer.” Dipper admitted.

Apparently it was the answer Bill wanted. “You know it, babe," the blond replied, shooting his roommate with a finger gun using his free hand. Then he swiveled around and directed his gaze at Pacifica, who promptly took a huge step backwards and shielded her face with her hands at the sudden attention, as if expecting something terribly wrong to happen.

Quite honestly, Dipper was, too.

But, anticlimactically, all Bill did was wave at her in an almost _friendly_ manner and say “Hi,” so slowly, like he was talking to a toddler.

Hesitantly, Pacifica moved her hands away from her face and back down to her sides. “H-Hi… Hello.”

Bill hummed in response and clipped his machete onto his belt, then proceeding to take a step towards her, though it didn't look like it was intended to be all that threatening. “Hm. I like your dress. It's very… poofy. You're dressed as… Belle? Maybe. I presume so.”

“What? No, no. Belle's dress wasn't pink. _Sleeping Beauty's_ dress was pink.” As if the distinction mattered. “I'm not going as any princess in particular, actually.” Pacifica flattened out her dress again, which Dipper didn't realize until much later was a nervous habit of hers. “I'm just going as, you know, a princess.” And, after a moment of way-too-uncomfortable silence, she continued, “It isn't too hard a concept to understand.”

 _You shouldn't be irking Bill like that,_ Dipper thought desperately, silently hoping that somehow the message would get through to her, _you shouldn't be irking Bill like that._ If he could see Bill's face right then, he'd expect the blond's lips to be twitching, in the way that they normally did when he was irritated.

Fortunately, Bill remained undeterred. “Oh. But of course.” Too late, Dipper noticed just how brittle his voice sounded- like he had been crying. Or was about to cry. Or both. “Either way, it _is_ a pretty nice costume. I have no doubt in my mind that you'll win the costume contest, since I'm assuming that's what you're going for.” As he spoke, he stepped away from her and sauntered over to the stove she had been wiping down when Dipper arrived. He reached down and picked up the rag she had been using with one hand, not really seeming to mind it being stained with grease and oil and, strangely enough, a few grains of rice. “...Well, unless _I_ win, that is.” He placed the rag in its previous place and stuck a few fingers in his belt loops. “I'll have you know, Your Majesty, I've won every costume contest here since my freshman year. That's _three years_ in a row. And today I intend to make it my _fourth_ year. Getting out of this place and leaving an impression, y'see.” A competitive light flashed in his eyes as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Yeah. In your dreams, maybe.” Pacifica retorted, but Dipper saw a smile twitching at one corner of her lips.

“I like your attitude, Princess! It's always good to know this year isn't going to completely easy. Nice, very nice.” Bill leaned back against the stove, despite it probably still being filthy, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Though, no matter how much you tell yourself you're going to win, it ain't happenin'. At least, not while I'm here. Now take a hike, kid, I have to converse with my colleague.” He waved a hand lazily at Dipper.

The princess scoffed. “Yeah, okay, whatever. You have fun with that. I have to go to the bathroom and add in some finishing touches, anyway. The contest is going to start any minute now.” Then, grabbing some of the fabric of her dress and pulling it off the ground a little so she wouldn't trip on it while she walked (it was confirmed- she _was_ wearing high heels), she made her exit, softly elbowing the door shut on her way out.

Once she was gone, Bill ran a fingertip along the surface of the stove, one of his brows raised in intrigue. “We'd better make this talk quick so we can steal a dance before the contest starts.” He then rubbed his thumb against the finger that had come into contact with the stove, most likely to rub away something that had gotten on it. Dipper watched him in silence, not wanting to be the one to speak first.

Finally, the senior broke the silence. “So were you two, like, making out before I got in here?” His tone was no longer bitter now, but surprisingly sour.

Dipper choked on air, caught off guard by the accusation. “What would make you think _that_?”

“You're not the only one who's good at the observation game, Pines.” Bill replied matter-of-factly. “Princess Money over there was nervous. Her voice cracked as she spoke to me, and she refused to look me in the eye at all. Her gaze was everywhere else.” Dipper would have made a comment about her being like that even _before_ he arrived, but the older male continued without pause, not allowing him to do so. “She flinched away the moment I walked in the room. Her shoulders were slumped the entire conversation. She moved her hands behind her back at some point-” Had she really? Dipper never noticed. “-which, in humans, is a sign of having something to hide. And, though there is a lot more I'd like to say, I don't have any time to get into it. So-” Bill waved one of his hands in a dismissive manner. “-spill the beans.”

 _Why does he even care?_ Dipper thought, but instead replied, “I swear we never kissed. We dance for a little bit, but that's all.”

Bill pressed his lips together until they were a thin white line. He didn't look entirely convinced, but he didn't protest, either. Studying the brunet for a moment or two, probably in search of any indication of a lie, he then cleared his throat and said, “Alright.”

“Okay, now it's my turn to ask _you_ a question.” Dipper decided to cut in, desperate to change the topic of conversation before things became more uncomfortable than they were at present. “Where have you _been_ these past few hours? I'm not mad or anything, but if you had told me you were going to be gone for so long, I would've just stayed in our room.”

Bill winced. Obviously that was a sensitive spot for him. “There were, er… a few factors I failed to take into consideration.” He pushed himself away from the stove with both his arms and walked past his roommate, most likely in a cheap attempt to avoid eye contact, his hands held tightly behind his back. _...which, in humans, is a sign of having something to hide,_ was what Dipper didn't say, but proceeded to ponder as the senior spoke up once again. “One of those factors being how long I was supposed to gone for. Nothing but a few errands, they were meant to take an hour at most. Sorry.”

He didn't sound sorry.

“Well, what did you have to do that took up so much time?”

Another wince; another sensitive spot had been hit. “...I'll tell you later.”

Dipper wasn't an idiot. He was smart enough to realize that was nothing more than a hollow promise. ...So, promptly, he figured it would be best to _not_ count on Bill fulfilling it. 

“And, I, uh, I have one more question," he added, but not before glancing down at his watch quickly to see if they had any time left for it.

7:39 P.M. _Thank goodness._ Pacifica must have been exaggerating when she said the contest would start any minute.

“Make it fast.” Bill grumbled.

“Why would… Why would you be so nice to Pacifica all of a sudden?” And, upon replaying the words in his head and realizing they hadn't come out right, the younger male added, “I mean, I'm not saying you should be _mean_ to her, but… It isn't…” He gulped and forced out, “Just… don't you hate her?”

A snort. “Wow, what made you reach a conclusion like _that,_ Sherlock? Of course I hate her!” Bill's voice had become nothing less than a snarl, and, when he turned around to face Dipper, his face was scrunched up in rage. “But what's the point in picking a fight with her? Especially _here?_ ” Which wasn't a bad point, not in the slightest. “Little do you know, _Dipper,_ I'm planning to _not_ get expelled.”

“So what you're telling me is that you would've picked a fight with her if you  _weren't_ on campus.”

“Uh, duh?”

Dipper had no idea what to say.

Bill all but sighed, his features calming some. “Let's get this stupid dance over with.” Then, not uttering another word, he stormed out of the room in an angered frenzy, leaving the younger male no other option than to follow him if he didn't want to get left behind.

To their great amount of luck, there wasn't a huge line outside the gymnasium when they arrived- in fact, there wasn't even a _line,_ the doors propped wide open. Pyronica also wasn't where she had been standing before. Music blasted loudly from the inside, however, along with the screeches and screams and cheers and chatter of the people who were inside, which in itself was enough to make Dipper's eardrums burst (he was mildly surprised they didn't).

He didn't get a moment to even think about how all those people would be able to fit in such a confined space, much less even what song was playing, as Bill had grasped the base of his arm and dragged him inside forcefully.

Dipper didn't exactly know how it was possible, but things were four hundred times as loud inside than they were on the outside. Upon entering, he could literally _feel_ his bones rattling painfully underneath his layers of skin and muscle. For someone like him, who had very, very sensitive hearing, being here was something akin to being brought into a madhouse.

It took him a little too long to realize that Bill had been speaking to him, and by the time he did it was too late for him to understand what his roommate was saying. Hastily pushing past a girl dressed as a tub of popcorn, he was only able to catch a few of the words that he tried to listen to.

“...close… me… wait… song's over.”

“What?” he attempted to hear it over all the noise. It was increasingly becoming more and more difficult to keep Bill in sight with all the people in his way, and the fact that Bill's hand had lost hold of his arm wasn't making the situation any easier, either. “Bill? Bill!” Despite him being in a room full of people, he suddenly felt lost and alone. “Bill?” He squeezed his way past a dancing couple, muttering a few low apologies.

Bill was nowhere in sight.

 _Great._ Dipper thought, biting back a series of curses. Today wasn't his day, was it? _This is just great. A repeat of the party. Fantastic._

He was just about ready to turn around and go back to the dorms, patience dead, when a hand fell upon his shoulder. Surprisingly enough, he was able to hear Bill speaking this time. “Hey, kid, where the fuck do you think you're going?” _Never mind. He's right here._ “You still owe me that dance. ...But, uh, we should go and find a spot that's a little less cramped, wouldn't you say?”

Dipper nodded gratefully and followed him, barely managing to keep him within his line of vision. It took a lot of pushing past people in many different varieties of costumes (and a lot more curse words thrown their way), but finally they got to a spot in the gym that had enough free space for Dipper to be able to breathe.

“So, then.” Bill drawled out the two words in an extremely slow manner, using both his hands to adjust the bow tie on his collar (though it didn't look as if it needed adjusting). He seemed to have been in a better mood than he was only a couple of short moments ago, which was to be expected at this point, really, but still bothered Dipper to bits nonetheless. “We'll get to see how much these last few weeks of practice paid off, huh?” He spoke extra loud, which was _also_ to be expected, taking into consideration the loudness of their surroundings. Then he tilted his head off to one side ever so slightly, tapping one of his feet on the ground impatiently- waiting for the song that was currently playing to be finished, Dipper figured.

It wasn't until the song was on its last verse and came to a close that Bill offered his hand, which Dipper took with slight reluctance, only to be immediately tugged closer to the older male and into a dance on the same exact instant that the next song began to play.

Bill placed one of his hands gently on Dipper's waist and used it to pull him in closer still, all the while Dipper placing one of his own hands on Bill's shoulder and allowing their free hands to come into contact, fingers interlacing and locking tightly. But, even as these actions happened, Dipper couldn't help but notice the burning sensation that penetrated his skull- also known as the all-too-familiar feeling of being stared at. He chose to ignore it besides how uncomfortable it made him, however, and instead kept his gaze on his dancing partner.

He too late found himself appreciating his roommate's lithe and elegant movements to a certain degree, a degree that, under normal circumstances, would be embarrassed to admit to. The blond moved at ease, his body in tune with the music itself, his hips swaying slightly from side to side in a way that any person could consider sexy. His grin was so wide it reached his ears and eyes so bright they could light up New York City for at least a century.

And the best part of it all was that those bright eyes didn't stray from Dipper's face. Not once. 

“P-People are staring at us," the younger of the two all but blurted out, experiencing the unbearable want for some type of communication- anything was better than not talking at all. He couldn't _stand_ not speaking.

“Oh, is that so?” Bill chuckled, apparently amused, and Dipper had no idea why. “I haven't noticed.”

Dipper forced a laugh of his own, though it came out sounding relatively dry and weak, and shyly moved to place his chin on Bill's other shoulder. To his surprise, the older male didn't protest to this action, which he couldn't tell was more comforting or worrysome. During dancing practice Bill had been all about setting a bubble of personal boundaries.

It wasn't until his head was on Bill's shoulder that Dipper had gotten a good, hard look at the location (or, at least, had looked past the insane amount of people crammed in the location). What Bill had said a few weeks ago about the gym looking like a scene ‘straight out of a horror movie' wasn't entirely off- blocking off the rows of bleachers on each of the walls were what seemed to be the huge boards used for backgrounds in live shows and movies, painted to look like a type of graveyard scene. And, when Dipper lifted his chin from Bill's shoulder and tilted it slightly to look upwards, took notice of the paper cut-outs of vampire bats and ghosts hanging down from the ceiling by thin strings. They were just high enough so a normal heighted person wouldn't be able to reach them.

A random thought that had been thrown to the back of Dipper’s mind made its way to the surface. “Uh, Bill?” He managed, focusing on a spot directly above Bill's eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

Suddenly, his world was nothing but a blur and blood began to rush to his head and he couldn't focus at all. It took him a couple of seconds to realize Bill had spun him. 

It was only when he was once again righted and facing Bill that he got a response. “Sure. Does it have something to do with people driving on parkways and parking in driveways? Because, if you want _my_ opinion on the matter, I think it's just idiocy. Like, who comes _up_ with this stuff?”

Dipper had to take time to digest that. “...What? No. No. It's not that.” _But I might have to put a pin in that topic._ “It's… What _were_ you doing before you came here? What took you so long?” Bill stiffened, and he added, “I… I mean, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to-”

“I told you already.” Bill's voice was as stiff as his body had become. “I was _taking care_ of a few things _. That's it.”_ His voice had also grown a hard edge, sharp like his fake machete. “End of story.”

“Yeah, I get it, but wha-”

The hand on Dipper's waist tightened in grip. “Shut up.”

Dipper obeyed. 

Bill hummed in satisfaction and his grin very gradually returned before he swept Dipper off into another direction as the song proceeded. By now Dipper noticed more people watching them, and it bothered him a hell of a lot more than it had when they first started their dance.

He took a deep breath. _Ignore them. Keep your attention on the dance. It's fine._ But even that wasn't enough to get his spirits lifted, especially with knowing the swift transitions between his roommate's moods.

“Hey, kid, you're supposed to be having fun.” Bill's voice had now become soft and smooth, sticky syrup on buttermilk pancakes. “Get your head out of the clouds.”

Dipper didn't get the opportunity to respond to this- or at least nod his head and show that he had heard- as his feet were suddenly nudged out from under him and he was forcefully brought into a low dip by his roommate, who was now grinning above him like a maniac- which, technically speaking, he actually was. Letting out a small yelp of surprise, Dipper clutched onto the fabric of his shirt, knowing well enough that his weight was being supported by Bill (which wasn't very much of a reassurance).

And then there was the short moment when everything else ceased to matter, the moment when the world magically disappeared and there was just Bill. Bill, who, in fact, had his arms locked quite firmly around Dipper's waist and was holding him in a kind of way that felt almost _secure._ It was in this short, short moment when Dipper's mind managed to drift away from worrying about what Bill was doing earlier and simply began to worry about the present, the importance of this very special moment- this very special moment in which their noses were only a hair's length away from brushing together and in which their breaths intermingled and Bill was at least _pretending_ that he wasn't upset about… well, whatever the hell he was upset about.

Dipper felt his heart beat wildly in his chest, so hard it made his ribs ache terribly and he could hear the blood roaring and the fast _badum badum badum_ in his ears. A barely concealed shiver shot up his spine, which he was completely certain Bill had felt as well, based on how the blond's grin had morphed into something much more confident… _cocky,_ even. And it was very, very irritating, just as it always seemed to be, but Dipper couldn't stop himself from returning it with one of his own.

Sadly enough, though, the nice moment didn't last as long as Dipper would've liked, because the song reached its final beat and Bill pulled him upright, his grin but a simple smile, though it looked distant and thoughtful.

It wasn't directed at Dipper. It was a forced action.

Then came the round of applause from the crowd of people that had long since gathered to watch them, but Dipper barely heard it- it was nothing more than mere background noise in his ears.

He stood in utter silence as Bill slowly- almost hesitantly, it seemed- reached over his shoulders and carefully adjusted the sash that, unfortunately, still held the cursed axe, moving it so it didn't feel as heavy on the brunet's back- Dipper didn't even notice how bothersome it had become until then, and the discomfort didn't last long due to Bill fixing it.

“Thanks.” Dipper said.

The older male took a step backwards, allowing him more room. “It's no problem, kid! But I really think I should have listened to you about leaving the axe behind. You make a fine enough zombie without it.”

“Um… thanks.” Dipper repeated.

Then, after a few seconds of awkward silence bloomed between them, he added, “You didn't _really_ win the costume contest three years in a row, did you? You just wanted to show off in front of Pacifica.”

Bill laughed. “I can neither deny nor confirm this theory.”

“You're a jerk.”

“Psssh. Don't be like that. You know you love me.” Bill replied. He cracked his knuckles. “Either way, I don't need to win a costume contest three years in a row in order to beat _her_ ass into the ground.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See that bit of good, warm, fluffy stuff you got there? Enjoy it. Embrace it to the best of your ability. Soak it in. Because it's going to be the last bit of the stuff you're going to get for a very, very long time- _everything_ beings to fall apart and turn to shit next chapter.
> 
> With such a nice thought in mind, I surely hope you enjoyed this chapter! ~~Comments would be nice, hint hint.~~


	19. Love is Unkind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaaah so I still have a lot on my plate, but here you go.
> 
> Honestly, though, things have been like super shitty and I've kinda had to convince myself to not give up on all my fics like ten times, BUT I think that weird sad phase is done for the moment so yeah.
> 
> \---
> 
> Chapter warnings: self harm and unhealthy thoughts 
> 
> P.S. the Creator Chose Not To Archive Warnings tag is still there :^)

Bill wasn't entirely certain if there happened to be a sound in the world more peaceful and calming than that of his dorm roommate's light snores.

He also wasn't sure of what about this sound in specific made it feel so appealing to his ears, but he supposed it had something to do with the hustle and bustle of his normal, everyday life- with so people always around him at a single time, slapping his back and screaming in his ears about things he didn't give a rat's ass about, such as last night's game and how the new cheerleading outfits were supposed to be more comfortable than the old ones.

It only made sense that having to share a dorm room- or, to be more specific, a bed- with someone who was so quiet and reserved and _not irritating to the point where he wanted to rip his own hair out_ (at times), even during the night, gave him a sort of break from his loud, obnoxious life and the loud, obnoxious people that made it so.

And he'd be lying if he were to say that he didn't appreciate it.

However nice it might have been for him, though, there were several times when it seemed as if the silence was a bit too much for him. It was at these times when unnecessarily terrifying voices would sneak into his head and whisper things that could've easily been blocked and pushed away during the loudness of the day; rejection, fears… And it was at times such as these that he would pry himself out of his roommate's epically warm embrace, as he was doing right now, and roll over to the side of the bed to allow more space just for him, taking some of the blanket on the way so he could at least keep warm. And, after this, he would do one of the following: he would either decide to sit up and sweep his legs over the side of the bed and smoke a cigarette, or, on a particularly painful night, he would do this plus manage to get out of bed altogether and go to the bathroom to take a shower.

Today, he decided, it was a _particularly_ bad night.

Moving into his usual position at the side of the bed, he crossed one leg over the other and reached towards the nightstand, blindly groping around in the darkness for his cigarette pack- and, when his fingers finally grazed over the light plastic of the package, he took it in his hand and flipped open the top, taking out a cigarette and pushing it between his lips. Then he placed the pack back down on the nightstand and took a few more seconds to feel around for his lighter, which he flicked on, causing a tiny flame to appear. In its illumination he could see about a foot or two in front of him, but he ignored his temporary view and used it to light the cigarette in his mouth.

His roommate stirred slightly in the bed once the cigarette was lit, causing him to freeze briefly in place and suck in a breath. But the younger male soon resumed his light, labored breathing and Bill allowed the breath that he was holding in to escape. God forbid the kid wake up and find him smoking.

Pinching the cigarette in one hand and parting his lips to let out the smoke in his mouth, he used his other hand to nervously clutch at the bed sheets. He fisted the fabric tightly, only to promptly release it a split second later. Then he grabbed at it again. Then released it…

Seemingly out of nowhere, he had the sudden urge to choke back a little self-conscious laugh; because, not for the first time in these past few weeks, thoughts about Halloween flung themselves to the front of his mind. And he really, really wished, also not for the first time, that they would simply go away and never return.

On the list of things he wished to forget, the night of the dance was, quite possibly, on the top of the list.

But, then again, he didn't want to have to think about his list of things he wanted to forget, either. He shook his head, as if that would help at all.

To no surprise, it didn't.

When his cigarette was roughly halfway burned through he lowered it and snuffed it out on his pajama pants and carelessly flicked it off somewhere into the darkness of the room. And, with that, he considered it not to be his problem anymore, especially seeing as his roommate was going to be the one to most likely pick it up off the ground in the morning (or, rather, _later_ that morning). Sure, he'd grumble while doing so, but still- no longer Bill's problem.

Now beginning to absently reach for his glasses, which were also conveniently placed on the nightstand, Bill slipped them on over his eyes and rose from his spot on the bed stealthily and carefully, to not cause the mattress to creak and wake up his roommate. Then he headed across the room in slow, large strides, looking back on the occasion to make sure Dipper was still fast asleep. Once he made it to the bathroom door, he opened it and slipped inside, quickly shutting it again on his way in and switching on the bathroom light.

Much to his own surprise, next he settled on taking a late night/early morning shower in an attempt to both get away from his roommate (for reasons he didn't quite understand) and calm his troubled mind. Both of which didn't work out well out all, first reason being he felt more confused and frustrated than before he had gotten in the shower, second reason being the knock on the bathroom door he received as he was turning off the water and stepping out of the shower.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled in the direction of the door, pulling on boxer shorts and a shirt so at least he wouldn't be naked when his roommate saw him, “keep your panties on, kid. I'm coming.” Then he draped a towel around his shoulders to prevent his dripping hair from getting his shirt wet and walked up to the door, opening it.

He was greeted with concerned, wide mocha eyes. “I… uh, I heard water running and I came to see if you were alright.”

Bill waved one of his hands in a dismissive manner. “What, a man can't take a shower without being questioned for it?” It was intended to come out as a joke, if he was being honest with himself, but he could kind of see why Dipper wouldn't be able to trust him alone in a bathroom, especially after the incident that shouldn't have happened. “Listen, go back to sleep. I'll be out after I get dressed.”

Dipper didn't look all too convinced. “Okay, but… You're _sure_ you're alright?”

“I'm fine. _Perfectly_ fine. Fantastic, even.” Nothing more than a half-assed lie. “Now go back to sleep. Don't you have an exam tomorrow? You have to get a good night's rest to pass, right?”

The younger male hesitated slightly before offering a reaction. He nodded and ran a hand through his curls, momentarily revealing his birthmark before his bangs fell over his forehead again. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.” He sighed. “Just… Don't do anything reckless, okay?” And, with a small smile, he turned away and walked off into the room.

As soon as Bill heard the sound of a mattress creaking, indicating Dipper had gotten into bed, he allowed himself to let out a low snort.

Who did that kid think he was? His mom? His guardian angel? Because he was _neither,_ and therefore had no right to act like he actually _cared._ It was actually kind of pathetic, actually.

Waiting another moment to make sure Dipper was asleep then slipping out of the bathroom without turning out the light, Bill closed the door just enough so the light wouldn't rouse his roommate. And, on his tiptoes, he crept his way silently to his side of the room (where he used to sleep before he and Dipper started sharing a bed).

Once there, he blindly pulled open one of the drawers of his dresser and reached inside, mentally hoping it was the one he was looking for. And, to his delight, not seconds later he was greeted with a sharp and painful sting to one of his fingers, which told him that this was, in fact, the drawer he had wanted. So he pulled out the item that had poked him, a knife, then carefully proceeded to close the drawer. He cringed slightly when it made a light slam.

He waited for one heartbeat.

Two…

Three…

When it became apparent his roommate wasn't going to wake up and bother him again, Bill out a long breath through his nose and headed back to the bathroom, knife in hand.

Of course, he was well enough aware it was against dorm rules to have knives (or anything of the sort) in rooms at any given time, but, as long as Dipper didn't know about it and their room didn't wind up getting randomly inspected for some reason, he wasn't worried about it in the slightest. And, the simple fact of the matter was, he was the master of not getting caught.

It wasn't until Bill was back in the light of the bathroom when he realized his finger was still stinging, and it was due to him cutting it when he was reaching for the knife; it was bleeding slightly. Unconsciously, he brought the cut finger to his lips and sucked on it until the bleeding came to a stop.

Thinking back on Halloween for the umpteenth time, he curled and uncurled the fingers on his free hand a few times before trying for a deep breath, which came out more shaky than he would have liked.

 _Here's to making it through the rest of the night… I think. Probably,_ he thought bitterly, pulling up one of the sleeves to his shirt with his teeth and then going to turn on the sink faucet with his free hand.

A few minutes passed and the knife was dropping out of his grasp and landing in the sink with a disturbingly loud _clank,_ and Bill, who was now satisfied (at least, for the time being, that was), slipped the towel he had around his shoulders away and held it under the water to wetten it. And, with a twinge of pain, he proceeded to firmly press it onto his bleeding wrist.

As when he usually did things like this, he couldn't seem to stop himself from running his tongue over his lips at the delectable sight of the rag easily soaking up his escaping bodily fluids. Some part of him, however, the logical part, cut in and ruined the fun, telling him it would be best to toss out the rag as soon as possible and replace it with a fresh one before his roommate noticed- but the rest of him said that was the least of the worries at this moment, this moment when he continued to dab the towel onto a few bleeding cuts that weren't getting as much attention.

Bill knew he had an image, a way the world outside his dorm room saw him, and it was an image he couldn't afford to have ruined- because, if anyone was to find out about _this,_ then it would change _everything._ It would change the way people viewed him; they would know he had a weakness, and, if he was being quite honest with himself, he didn't _want_ anyone to know he had a weakness. Because, as far as any mere mortal was concerned, he was _Bill fucking Cipher,_ the one and only, and he _had no weakness._

That's how he wanted to be viewed now, and how he wanted to be viewed for the rest of his natural life. And if any of that changed… Well, he wasn't necessarily sure _what_ he would do, but it most likely wouldn't be something good.

He tossed the bloodied towel to the side- wherever it landed was where it landed- and began to wearily rub at his new cuts, secretly enjoying the ever-lingering pain his own administrations caused.

Like every other cut he'd dared to give himself, these newly made ones weren't so terribly deep he'd need to go to the hospital and get stitches. In fact, they weren't deep at all. They _never_ were, and _that_ was because of the fact that he never really did have any intentions of being forced into a hospital, as it would only end with him winding up in some kind of mental facility.

Every time he cut, he only went deep enough so he would just be able to feel the pain.

That was all he needed. The _pain._

He laughed almost inaudibly at his own train of thought as he washed off the knife with some soap, then went back to his side of the room to return it to its usual spot before he crawled into bed next to the sleeping form of Dipper Pines.

It had been like this every day since Halloween.

* * *

 

“Do you have any plans for Thanksgiving?”

Bill wasn't quite prepared for such a sudden question. But, nonetheless, he took another bite of his raisin granola bar and quickly formulated an answer in his mind. Speaking between chews, he replied, “I have no idea, I guess I didn't think of anything to do in specific…”

 _Smooth, Bill. Smooth,_ he scolded himself, swallowing the food in his mouth. “I was kinda just thinking I'd make myself a plate of something or other and stuff my face until I wind up vomiting, all while pretending I don't exist.”

Dipper frowned and put down the pencil he was writing with on his notebook. Apparently that answer wasn't what he had been expecting. “That is literally the most depressing thing I have ever heard.”

Bill snickered and took another bite of his granola bar. “Don't look at me like that. You were the one who wanted to know, remember.”

“I mean…” Dipper trailed off, probably thinking. “Don't you have, like, any family to visit?” This earned a head shake from Bill. “No one? Really? Not even a distant relative?” Another head shake. “Hmmm… Do you have any friends to visit, then? I'm sure you must have friends. You told me before that you did.”

Finishing off his granola bar, Bill wiped his hands on his jeans carelessly and paused to consider. “Well, now that you mention it, I could always go to Tad's house. He's not too bad a cook…” He clicked his tongue. “But the last time I went to his house for Thanksgiving I had to watch him perform surgery on a turkey for six hours, so no thanks.”

“Anyone else?”

Again, Bill had to take time to think of an answer. “There's always the option of hanging out in Py's roo- Wait, she's probably just going to go to Tad's for Thanksgiving… and 8 Ball, too, so he isn't really an option, either.” He shrugged and smirked. “Yep, I guess it's a plate of food and loneliness for me this year.”

The freshman looked confused. “I don't get why you wouldn't want to hang out with your friends, though. You can't _seriously_ want to be alone on a _holiday.”_

“Okay, wiseguy, _first of all-”_ Bill raised his hands in a defensive manner. “-none of them are my _friends_. More like… acquaintances. They're just people I talk to and hang out with on the occasion because I happen to not find them completely lame.”

“To be technical, that is the _exact_ definition of a fri-”

 _“Secondly,”_ Bill interjected, louder than he had intended, giving his roommate a warning glare, “because I said they're not completely lame does _not_ mean they're not lame at all. For instance, Tad is literally the personification of a square, Py has been known to set my clothes- usually my pants- on fire, and 8 Ball is… well, I don't have a word to describe him properly, but you get the point.” Dropping his hands down onto his lap, he finished his case with, “And, last but not least, why do you _care_ about what I do for Thanksgiving? What, do you have _better_ plans? Because, do tell. I'm sure you're going to have a _lovely_ time.”

Dipper seemed to have ignored his spiteful tone, leaning back on his arms and smiling happily. “I’m going home to Piedmont so I can visit my family. It's going to be great.”

“Huh.” Bill hadn't even taken into consideration that Dipper would want to go back home to see his family over the holiday break. But, now that he actually _was_ thinking about it, his stomach acid began to bubble with some type of emotion he wasn't familiar with. “How long…” He faltered, if but for an instant. “How long are you going to be gone for?”

“I'm taking a plane to California on the first day of break and taking a flight back here on the last day. I should be here sometime at night, I think. So, six days. Almost a week.”

Bill couldn't help but be bothered by how _happily_ Dipper presented this information. Why did he have to say it so cheerily? Did he really want to leave _that_ badly?

But he forced himself to banish these discouraging thoughts. “Wow, sounds great. I hope you have fun or whatever, then.” And, biting down on his bottom lip to hold down whatever else it was he wanted to say, he was fast to bring his attention back to his lab homework. “What do you usually have for Thanksgiving?”

Dipper was quiet a moment before answering. “I don't know, the kind of stuff a lot of people have for Thanksgiving? My mom likes to make a lot of food, though, so much that we have leftovers to last us at least the next few days.”

 _My mom liked to cook a lot, too,_ was what Bill suddenly felt tempted to say, but restrained himself. He figured it would be better for the both of them if he didn't ruin the light atmosphere with his stupid parent problems. Parent problems he really, really would do anything to not think about; but it was hard not to with Dipper talking about his own family.

He felt a twinge of jealousy towards his roommate, not for the first time. The kid was super lucky to have a family that was stable.

He didn't say any of this out loud, however, only managing a simple, “Sounds like a fun time.”

“Yeah… It is.”

They were both silent after that, Bill trying to distract himself by flipping through his lab packet and writing half-assed answers to the questions he could be bothered to remember, while Dipper worked on the rough draft of some kind of essay or report or something. Bill didn't necessarily know what it was about, but he also didn't care, either.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, Dipper spoke up. “When you wind up getting your degree in Fine Arts at the end of the school year,do you think you would be able to sell your art or something and get money that way? I've heard of people that pay a lot of money for art.” His expression morphed when this was responded with a exasperated look from Bill. “What? It's an idea, isn't it? I'm just trying to help you.”

Bill rolled his eyes and put his lab packet to the side.  “Honestly, you're hopeless. How much art is worth depends on the type of art that it _is,_ first off.” Tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his lips repeatedly, he allowed a thoughtful hum to reverberate in his throat. “For example, you can't just slap a price sticker on some dumb old drawing and try to sell it for one hundred thousand dollars. In case you haven't noticed by now, everyone's a critic these days. They can literally _smell_ the amount of effort people put into their art. And, when I say literally, I _mean_ literally.” After a few seconds of painful silence came into existence, he decided to ask, “Since we're playing twenty-one questions or whatever the fuck this is today, what are _you_ going to do when you get your degree in… What was it you said? Creative Writing?” Dipper nodded. “Yeah, that. What are you going to do when you get your degree in Creative Writing?”

“I'm planning to write a book,” the younger male said it so _easily,_ like this was anyone's ideal plan for the future. “But, like… I'm gonna start it as soon as possible, not when I graduate. My plan is to actually have it _published_ by the time I graduate.”

Now Bill found himself interested, if not vaguely. “A book?” he echoed carefully, pursing his lips. “Interesting. What genre do you have in mind?”

“Uh, I haven't gotten too much into detail yet, but a murder mystery is _definitely_ the kind of book I'd like to write.”

“Nice. Sounds like a book I could get into. I'm all in for a little bit of death and suspense.”

Something flashed in Dipper's eyes. “You have a very weird way of looking at things.” He sounded more amused than disgusted or terrified, though, which Bill found oddly relieving.

Laughing uncertainly, Bill replied, “Yeah, I guess that's one way you could put it.” He shoved his half-finished lab packet into a green folder as he spoke (least favorite subject goes in his least favorite colored folder) and shut it dramatically and reaching over his roommate awkwardly so he could throw it on the ground, where both their school bags were resting.

“I'll finish it later,” he explained, when the action earned him a concerned glance from the younger male. But, of course, this attempt at reassurance only turned that concerned gaze into a doubtful one. _“Seriously._ What kind of lazy ass procrastinator do you take me for, kid? Sheesh.”

Dipper sighed and closed the notebook he had been writing in. “It's fine, I think. I'm pretty much done with this thing already, too, and it isn't even due until next week.” He picked up his backpack from off the ground and and stuffed the notebook inside, then placed it gently back down onto the ground. After this he leaned against the headboard and looked up at the ceiling. “So… Is there anything on TV?”

Bill smirked. “I'm glad you ask, my young apprentice,” he said dramatically, picking up the remote- which was resting between them on the bed- and used it to turn on the television. “Depends on what you like to watch, though. What's your style? Horror movies? Or maybe something on the comedic side? Maybe we could go and see what they have playing on demand?” He tacked on at the end, steadily avoiding the mention of a certain genre.

“Uh, sure.” Dipper sounded uncertain. He lowered his head to look at the TV screen. “Whatever you want is fine.”

Bill decided to settle on some cheesy serial killer movie that had been on and brought his knees to his chest, bringing himself into a tight ball.

He remained that way for some time before his attention was dragged out of the movie by a rather loud _ding,_ the sound Dipper's phone made when it received a text notification.

Sadly, it was a sound he knew all too well. (And it was sad to hear for a certain reason in particular.)

Dipper pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen a moment, reading what was sent. All the while Bill hoped it wasn't a text from who he thought.

But when the brunet shoved his phone back into his pocket and moved out of the bed to pick up his backpack off the ground, Bill let out a disappointed sigh.

Dipper seemed to notice he was staring. “Oh, right. Sorry.” He slung the backpack over his shoulders and looked around. “That was Pacifica. She said she needs some help studying for a chemistry exam, so I'm gonna head over to her room and, you know, actually help her out.” Reaching down, he picked up a pencil that had managed to make it's way halfway under the bed- maybe it had fallen out of his backpack, Bill figured. “Uh, but… You _are_ okay with that, though, right?” he asked, rolling the pencil between a few of his fingers.

Bill felt betrayed, but he also figured there was no point in banning his roommate from hanging out with other people. Pacifica was the kid's _friend,_ and as much as Bill wanted to wrap his hands around her perfect little neck, he forced himself a while ago to come to terms with it. “It's whatever. Go ahead.”

“Yeah, thanks. We can finish homework later, alright?” Dipper smiled and raised one of his hands in a farewell before turning away to walk out the room. The door closed softly as he made his way out.

Once he was gone, Bill growled deep in his throat and unpaused the movie. He returned to his feeble position, though when he did it this time it was more so a way to not think about the frustrated scream making its way upward. “Fine. I never wanted to hang out with you, either.”

* * *

 

Things persisted in staying that way for the next few days, Dipper leaving to go to Pacifica's room for stupid reasons- and, quite frankly, Bill wasn't okay with it. Not in the slightest.

The room was so creepily quiet without Dipper being there, so much so it made Bill feel like he was going to lose his ever-loving mind- which he kind of already was, to the point where he would pace around the room in a frenzy and tug at his hair like a maniac, mumbling to himself about things he couldn't remember afterwards. And, on the rare occasion when he found himself feeling particularly shitty, (which, in reality, wasn't rare at all, considering he was always feeling shitty) he would dare to take his knife out the drawer and head into the bathroom for a painful high.

But this started to grow old in such a short amount of time, which made him convince himself to get out of the room for once and catch a breath of fresh air. So, on the night before Thanksgiving break started, he did, even _if_ it was just because he was out of things to drink in his own room and wanted to mooch off of someone else's alcohol.

Clenching one of his hands into a tight fist, he rapped on the door twice, then took a small step backwards and waited for a response from the other side.

A minute or two passed with nothing happening, which caused him to step up to the door again, but this time he knocked with three times as much force as before. And, this time, it earned him a “Yeah, yeah, I'm coming,” from inside the room, followed by a loud bang.

About another twenty seconds passed and the door swung open suddenly, accompanied with a not-so-friendly greeting by a very angry looking Pyronica. Her hair was completely concealed by a pink-stained towel and a small-seeming needle was injected into the vein on the crook of one of her elbows.

She ran her gaze up and down the blond's form, her lips pursed. “Normally I'd be polite, say hi, and invite you in, but you've caught me on the worst possible day. No offense, but I don't want to see your face right now.” A frown forming, she tilted her head to one side. “And I'm not even gonna sugar coat it to sound nice. I would _literally_ be perfectly fine right about now if it had been anyone other than you who knocked on my door.” She took a deep breath, as if trying to calm herself. “What the fuck do you want, and make it fast.”

Bill returned her frown with one of his own. “I'll have you know that I haven't gotten drunk in _three weeks_ and I'm out of _any and all_ alcohol in my room.” He leaned forward slightly; he didn’t know _what_ her problem with him was, nor did he care. He just didn’t want to have to put up with her sour attitude. “What I'm saying is I need a drink. So you'd better fucking let me in that room and _have_ a drink.”

“I honestly feel bad for your roommate for having to put up with you.” Pyronica mumbled under her breath, barely loud enough for him to hear. Then she sighed and stepped aside to allow Bill inside, speaking louder. “Since you asked so nicely. There's butterscotch and wine in the fridge. Go knock yourself out. Hopefully in a literal sense.”

“What's your problem with me today?” Bill asked her, shutting the door behind himself and heading into the kitchen. Opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of wine, he turned his head to one side and added on, “Do you want anything?”

Pyronica materialized next to him. “I'm in a pissy mood because reasons.” She began to pull the needle out of her arm. “And none for me. I can live without, thanks.”

Bill eyed the needle carefully as he kicked the fridge door shut. “What the hell is that thing for? I'm pretty sure anyone with common sense would try to get as far away from _that_ as possible.”

He had said it with the intentions of being funny and maybe eliciting a short laugh or even a smile of sorts from Pyronica, but it didn't work. In fact, all the pink-haired girl did in response was shoot him an exasperated glare. It was then when he noticed the bags under her eyes, making him figure she was tired. But because of what remained a mystery. “Well, I was talking to my roommate and I told her I wasn't feeling too hot, so she gave me a bag of IV fluids and this needle before she left to hang out with her friends.” As she spoke, she put the needle down on the kitchen counter and placed a hand on one side of her face. “I'm trying to insert my own banana bag. It… It sounds dirty, but it isn't.”

Under normal circumstances, Bill would have laughed at the words “banana” and “bag” being used together in a sentence, but, seeing how upset his ex-sex-friend was, making a joke out of that was the last thing on his mind.

He uncorked his bottle of wine and brought it to his lips, only allowing himself a small sip before he spoke. “I'm sorry you're not feeling good, but… I'd seriously like to know why you hate me so much today.”

Pyronica didn't give him a direct reaction. Instead, she cast her gaze downwards.

She said, “I like your shoes. I don't think I've seen you wear these before today, though.” The tone of voice she used didn't really show she cared. “Are they new?”

Bill hesitated. “Yeah, they are.” He quickly took another sip of his drink. “They were only nineteen ninety-nine, so why the fuck not, ya know.” And, to his relief, this actually earned him a small smirk from Pyronica- what a terrifyingly fast transition in mood, he mused.

“Since when do you care about the quality or age of the shoes you're wearing?” she asked after a few seconds, rubbing her nose. “You hate buying new shoes, in fact. You always say they're too expensive.” Then, “Actually, I'm pretty sure you hate shoes in general.”

Bill shrugged. “What's wrong with that? Can't a guy have a change of mind?”

“I never said people were incapable of changing their minds, sugar. But, if there's one thing I know for damn certain, it's that people like _you_ don't. Like, not once. Ever. Unless they somehow go through one of those deep, life changing experiences or whatever.” Pyronica spoke in a matter-of-fact manner. “So tell me why you got the new shoes.”

“Ver-”

 _“William.”_ Pyronica interrupted, sternly. When she didn't get a response, she muttered, “Right,” and spun around on her heels to walk out the kitchen- and Bill, who still felt relatively concerned in regards to her strange behavior, put the cork back in his drink and followed her out.

Pyronica sat down on the side of one of the beds in the main room- the one Bill had to assume was hers- and he settled in next to her.

“I'd hate to be the guy who makes assumptions with little to no evidence to say otherwise,” Pyronica said, “but I think that maybe- just maybe- you got those nice new shoes of yours because of your roommate. Trying to impress him, mayhaps?” She unwrapped the towel from around her head and folded it neatly, placing it on her lap. To Bill's mild shock, her hair wasn't dyed pink like it usually was; it was simply it's natural strawberry blonde color. “You can go ahead and try to tell me I'm wrong, but I'm not going to believe you.”

Based on the way she was looking at him, Bill groaned and caved almost instantly. “I just thought I needed to look nice, okay? You know, because he's been hanging out with Northwest a _lot_ lately and she looks like Isabella freaking Rossellini and I'm literally just me…” He pushed his glasses up his nose and glared at the label on his bottle of wine. “...so I thought, ‘What’s something you can get for real cheap that people wear when they need to look nice?’”

Pyronica blew at some of the hair in her face. “And, by trying to figure this out, the first thing to come to your mind was _sneakers?”_ Bill shrugged, and she laughed. “Oh, _oh my God,_ that is fucking _priceless._ Guys are so _dense.”_ And, snorting, she placed one of her hands over her mouth to hide a giggle fit. “Why do you even care if this kid is hanging out with Pacifica, anyway? I mean, he's allowed to have friends.”

 _That's what I'd like to know,_ Bill thought, but replied out loud with, “Why is that any of your damn business?” His grip tightened on his wine, which he had forgotten he was still holding. “If you're only going to make fun of me, I don't see why I should stay here.” He moved to stand, but just as quickly his arm was grabbed and he was tugged back down by Pyronica, who was somehow still laughing hysterically.  

“Oh my God… No, no… Hold on a minute.” The cheer captain inhaled deeply through her nose, then released through her mouth. “Okay, I'm good. I _swear_ I'm done laughing at you now.” Her grin fell away. “But, seriously, listen. There's something really important I need to tell you. Like, it's something that I think you need to know.” She ran her hand down Bill's arm until their hands met and laced their fingers together gently; which, in retrospect, was odd, because even when she went into full on mom mode, she _knew_ Bill hated hand holding.

And Bill would have pried his hand away and chewed her head off about it if she hadn't continued to speak. “I meant to tell you at the dance, but you went missing in action and all that, then you kinda just… started to avoid everyone and stuff, so- _Wait.”_ She furrowed her brows. “I have a question to ask you.” Never a good thing to hear from her. “What was it you were doing on Halloween? Like, what could have possibly been _so important-”_

“That literally has nothing to do with whatever it was you were about to say.” Bill countered evenly, though his insides were rattling.

“I know, but you were too busy being a shut-out to ever tell me.” Pyronica insisted, leaning forward and breaching his bubble of personal space. “You'd better not fucking tell me you told Dipper before me. Because, if you did, I feel fucking _demoted.”_

Bill tried for a friendly smile as he pulled his hand away from hers, but it came out showing more like a dog baring its teeth. “It's like I said before. That's none of your damn business.”

“Honestly, Will, what's happened to you that was so terrible you can't tell me? You tell me _everything._ Did something traumatic happen?” Pyronica's icy blue eyes widened impossibly. “Did someone die?” She tugged on his arm again, this time twice as hard. “Who died, William?”

Scooting away from her, Bill shot her an irritated glare; much like the one she had given him before. “Seriously, Py, what the hell is _wrong_ with you? Are you on your period? You're being super weird… And not the good type of weird, let me tell you.”

“I can say with complete certainty that I am not on my period.” Pyronica replied dismissively, which wasn't reassuring to Bill's ears at all. “Come on, tell me what happened? What did you do? I promise I won't judge. Probably.”

"I'm not saying anything about what happened on Halloween until you tell me what you were going to say before.” Bill mumbled.

 _“Fine,”_ the cheerleader groaned in reply, seeing that there was no point in fighting, “but you're not going to like what I have to say. At all. To be honest, you're probably going to want to kill me after I tell you.”

 _And you were the one chewing_ me _out for being overdramatic,_ Bill thought, and rolled his eyes impatiently. _“Please,_ Py. What is it you could _possibly_ do that would make me want to kill you? I don't even _care_ about your personal life.”

Pyronica frowned, obviously not yet convinced. “If you're so sure… But promise me you won't yell at me. Or freak out. Or, really, do anything that would warrant concern from the rooms around us.”

“Wh-"

 _“William.”_  

Bill snorted and mockingly placed one of his hands over his heart. “I _promise.”_

But some part of him felt like he already knew what Pyronica was going to say. He'd seen enough terrible movies and had glimpses at crappy romance novels to know in what direction this was headed, and it was this that made his heart clench in fear before Pyronica even opened her mouth to tell him the news.

The clues all seemed to add up, too. Pyronica saying that she didn't want to see him at the door, acting terrifyingly hormonal, refusing a drink despite having so much to drink in her fridge, washing all the pink dye out of her hair… Not to mention how absolutely exhausted she looked, and the fact she said she was definitely _not_ on her period.

Bill's tongue felt like sandpaper.

He didn't give her the chance to utter a single syllable. “You're pregnant, aren't you?”

Pyronica's eyes darkened an entire shade. Bill waited for her to say this was all some kind of sick joke, but she didn’t. 

“Oh, good,” she said, “so you're not a complete idiot.”

 _“Fuck.”_ Bill angrily buried his hands into his hair and lowered his head, glaring at the floor. Unconsciously, he started to grind his teeth together painfully. “You… You… You're _pregnant.”_ Then, laughing despite wanting to cry, he moved his hands down to cover his face instead. “You're going to have a fucking _baby.”_

“Yes, I'm pretty sure having a baby is what pregnancy is all about.” Pyronica deadpanned, placing a hand on his back and rubbing it in a soothing manner. She seemed to sound satisfied, which Bill found extremely terrifying. “Okay, but before you say anything, just remember you promised me you wouldn't freak out.”

“Yes, I _did_ promise that.” Bill spat. “But I promised that _before_ I realized there was a _human being_ growing in your _uterus.”_ Pyronica didn't reply, and he took the opportunity to place his wine on the ground and stand, taking a few steps back away from her, as if she had some type of deadly disease. She didn't protest. “I mean… _what?_ You know _very well_ I have _every right_ to fucking freak out. You… When were you planning to tell me this?”

Pyronica's expression was passive. “Um, at the Halloween dance?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Did I not just say that, like, five seconds ago?” Then she straightened in her spot and momentarily placed one of her hands on her stomach. “And calm down. A promise is a promise. Besides, it's not that big a deal.”

“Not that big a deal? _Not that big a deal?”_ Bill echoed, as loudly as he had heard the words in his head. “Do you even hear what you're _saying_ right now? Of _course_ it's a big deal! You're having a fucking _baby.”_ As his last statement slipped out, his eyes trailed down to the hand she had rested on her stomach. “You're not too far in, by the looks of it…”

Pyronica shook her head. “Nine weeks,” she said, and moved her hand from her stomach to rub at her nose again. “That means about six and a half more months before I get a big tummy and pop.”

“Wait, what. Hold on a minute. I don't think I heard you right.” Bill held up his hands. He felt calmer now, though only slightly, as his heart was still thundering painfully in his chest and he was sweating profusely. He was sure any hair on and around his face was soaked. His chest heaved with the painful amount of force it was taking for him to speak and take deep breaths at the same time. “You're actually planning to give _birth_ to the baby?”

“Well, yeah, I mean…” The cheer captain raised one of her brows. “What else could I possibly do with the-” She cut herself off, and, after a few seconds to realize what he was trying to say, her mouth morphed into an ‘o' shape. Her features scrunched up angrily. “Oh. _Oh.”_ Her eyes narrowed into slits. “What is _wrong_ with you? It's not the _baby's_ fault you and I made some mistakes in the past. If anything, I _owe_ it to the baby to be a loving parent. And, _lastly,_ that… what you just _suggested to me…”_ She shook her head again. “I'm in perfect health! Of _course_ I'm going to take care of it, and I'm going to do it _regardless_ of whether you're planning on helping me or not.”

“Yeah? And what makes you sure you can take care of a child all by yourself, huh?”

“The answer to that is relatively simple, my love. It's because I know damn well it would be better off without having you as a father, anyway,” she stated. Then she let out a breath through her nostrils. “No offense, Will, but you… You turned out way too much like your dad, and I don't want my child to have to be around that kind of aura.” The last part came out as a whisper, but it sounded more like a scream to Bill's ears. “And, if you don't want to take care of it, which I'm sure you really don't-” She eyed Bill carefully. “-I'm not letting you around it. At least, not until you grow up and move on, that is. Otherwise, I'm not so much as going to let you _cradle_ it.”

Bill took a minute or so to process everything she was saying to him.

As much as he would have hated to admit it, there was a small portion of him that _did_ want to help Pyronica take care of the baby. He wanted to be a good dad and prove her wrong- he wanted to make his dad look worse than he already was.

But there was the rest of him, the somewhat rational part that told him otherwise, telling him this was stupid and Pyronica was being ridiculous if she thought she could take care of a small human. Did she even _know_ how to take care of a small human?

“I've been taking care of your ass all these years, haven't I?” Pyronica grumbled, which made his realize he'd asked that last question out loud.

Bill was quiet for a few more seconds. “So… You're being serious about all this, huh?”

The cheerleader's response was almost instantaneous. “Yes.”

Once again losing himself in his own thoughts and considerations, Bill turned away from her and took off his glasses to wipe the fog on the lenses onto his shirt. Then he slipped them on over his eyes and turned back around and face his pregnant friend. 

“I'm not going to let you take care of him… er, or her… alone,” he decided. “Not if there's a chance that I can prove you wrong about me being like my dad.”

“Like I told you earlier, not until you grow up.” Pyronica was smiling as she said it, however- but it fell away and turned into a frown after a few seconds. “Now to fulfill your end. Tell me what happened on Halloween.”

Bill sucked in a breath.

* * *

 

When he got back to his own dorm room later that night, sleeping wasn't something he found easy to come by.

He couldn't stop himself from wondering what he was going to wind up doing when the next few hours came to pass, when his roommate was supposed to grab his bags and leave town for six days. And, as he thought, he stared up at the ceiling and kneaded the fabric of his green dinosuar shirt between his fingers. (A shirt he didn't like for both the color _and_ the design, but it was the cheapest thing he could find.) His ears and nose felt achingly cold, as they always did, but he didn't want to arouse the sleeping figure beside him by moving closer.

So he only stayed in place and listened to the sound of the younger male's light breathing.

Finally, he became fed up with the silence and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

He placed a fist over his mouth and yawned into it tiredly, then carefully maneuvered his legs to slide over the side of the bed so he could get out.

It was when he was in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of milk in hopes it would make him sleepy, that he was startled into full consciousness.

“Bill, what are you doing up so early?”

Heart suddenly racing at ninety miles per hour, Bill slammed the carton of milk down on the surface of the counter and spun around to face the direction of the voice, his eyes wide. His body immediately relaxed when he saw it was his roommate.

“Oh, it's just you,” he growled deep in his throat, closing up the carton and returning it to the fridge before picking up his glass and bringing it to his lips. “You _seriously_ need to stop sneaking up on me like that, Pine Tree. One of these days I'm gonna wind up in the hospital.”

“Uh, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.” Dipper said, hanging his head down a little in apology. “I heard you get out of bed, and-”

“Yeah, yeah, you're a light sleeper, I get the concept.” Bill grumbled almost incoherently against the glass, his eyes starting to grow heavy- but he wasn't so sure it was due to him not getting a good night's rest since the end of October. “But I'm fine, really. You should go back to sleep. You're going home to see your family first thing, after all.” _Your happy family,_ he added in his thoughts, scowling to himself. “With that sister of yours you keep talking about, I'm sure you're gonna need all the energy you can get.”

The brunet shrugged. “It's no big deal. I can sleep on the plane.” And, seemingly in a hesitant sort of manner, he took a short step forward. “Are you sure you're okay? You look like you're gonna pass out.”

“I'm fine.” Bill repeated, putting the milk down on the counter. If he was being honest, though, he did feel the slightest bit dizzy. Probably from the wine- but, then again, he had barely had any of that. Not even half the bottle.

“I'd hate to be that one guy, kid,” he said, in a way to distract himself from his lightheadedness, “but what the hell is up with you mom-ing me all of a sudden? No offense to your mom skills or anything, but I don't want, nor do I need, your help. Make like a bee and buzz off.”

His words came out sounding a lot harsher than he had heard them in his mind, and he wasn't sure how much he liked it, a tiny twinge of guilt snaking its way into his throat.

But he still felt a little relieved he gained the guts to say it in the first place.

“I-I'm sorry… I guess. I don't know…” The younger male licked his lips. “I just got worried… After you tried to drown yourself in the bathtub…” His voice was low and hoarse.

 _Oh, wonderful,_ Bill inwardly hissed, _now he's trying to make me feel bad._ It was working.

But he didn't say so out loud, and leaned against the counter, once again grabbing his glass and waving it around lightly in his grasp, watching with faint interest as the white liquid inside sloshed around.

“Are we still going on about that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. He wasn't able to stop the snarl threatening to curl over his lips. Everything about the bathroom incident was yet another thing he really wished he could forget about. “Because that happened, like, thirty years ago." 

“It was actually only about a month ago.”

Bill groaned and rolled his eyes irritably. “What do you _want_ from me, kid?”

“To know if you're alright.”

Bill gave Dipper a toothy grin. “I told you a hundred times already, I'm _fine._ How many times am I going to need to repeat myself?”

“Until…” Dipper flinched.

“Until?”

“Until… Until it sounds less like a lie, I guess.” Dipper whispered- and he didn't sound upset when he said it, which was, honestly, what Bill interpreted as the scary part. 

He took a deep breath. “I'm not an idiot, Bill. You're been acting a lot more closed out since Halloween- which isn't saying much, because you always shut me out, but _this…”_ He blinked, slowly. “You're not fine, Bill. As much as you keep telling everyone that, including yourself, that you are, it's just a lie. You really _aren't_ fine.”

Bill wasn't quite sure how, but he couldn't exactly remember the events of what happened next; all he knew was that, within the short span of a few mere seconds, his glass of milk was on the ground, the cup shattered and in pieces with its contents spilling out into a mess on the ground- and he was on the ground in front of the mess, the palm of his right hand cut to what he interpreted was fairly deep. It was bleeding.

“Bill? Bill!”

He could barely hear his dorm roommate at first. The sound of his heart overworking itself for the hundredth time in the past two hours drowned it out easily.

There was also a loud roar reverberating deeply in his ears, managing to somehow make it difficult for him to both think and form proper words at the same time. He was sure his lips were moving, but not to anything he could recall saying before today.

Or maybe it _was_ something he had said before… He wasn't certain at this point, but it sure was a theory that came to mind as he stared at his hand. His eyes couldn't seem to tear away from the sight of dark red blood currently running down his arm.

 _Isn't something like this a sign of not having enough water?_ he asked himself, immediately forgetting about… well, whatever it had been he was thinking about before. A small frown tugged at one corner of his lips. _Yeah, I'm pretty sure a doctor told me that once. If blood is a dark red color, it’ a sign of not having enough water._ A laugh tickled in his throat. _I think I should start drinking more water._

“Bill!”

The older male snapped out of his trance with a sharp gasp. And, after the few seconds it took for reality to catch up with him, he lurched forward and lowered his head to vomit, his entire body convulsing.

It took some more time to remember Dipper was standing approximately a foot away from him.

He wiped away the bit of saliva that happened to be dripping down to his chin, then sat back on his butt, staying as far away from the mess he'd made as possible. “Heh.” He grinned up at his roommate. “Hey, look at the bright side! At least it isn't on the carpet this time!” As he spoke, he used his other hand to press down on his wound, which wasn't doing much, as the blood that had already run down his arm was already beginning to dry. “Wow, that doesn't look good.”

Dipper sighed, like this was a normal, everyday problem. “I'm gonna… Go get some stuff to clean all this up,” he said quietly, “and to clean up your hand, too. Try not to do anything to make it worse. Be right back.” He ran off without waiting for a response.

Once he was out of sight, Bill laughed and applied more pressure to his cut, pushing down on it as hard as he possibly could. This caused it to sting, but it only made him laugh harder in the end. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, boy.” He said it out loud, not caring in the slightest if Dipper walked into the room and caught him talking to thin air. “Oh, _boy._ William, you've really gone and done it now. You got a girl _pregnant.”_ And, with that, he snorted and broke out into an ironic laughing fit, his lungs aching with all the laughing he'd done up to that moment.

Dipper walked in a moment later, some time after Bill had managed to calm himself down, dragging in with him a mop, and, under one of his arms, a brown container Bill couldn't quite make out from where he was and a bag of cotton balls.

The blond male couldn't help but wonder what those were supposed to be for- but he wondered in silence and watched as the younger male mopped up his throw up and then used a broom and pan from the corner of the kitchen to sweep up the glass that remained.

It only took him a little more than three minutes, and after he was down on his knees in front of Bill, placing the brown container and the bag of cotton balls aside to grab his still-bleeding hand and examine it.

“Damn, Bill. You've got to be more careful around broken glass next time.”

“S-Sorry.” Bill mumbled in reply, not sure of what else to say. What did normal people even say in situations like this? But that was the least of his worries, his face growing warm when his roommate's fingers lightly brushed against his own. He hadn't even realized how comfortable he felt in Dipper's grasp. “I-I didn't mean to do it, I-”

Dipper gazed at him sympathetically. “Bill, it's okay. You don't need to apologize. It was an accident. Accidents happen all the time.”

 _But it's not okay, is it? Nothing is okay,_ the blond wanted to counter. He casted his eyes down at the ground so he wouldn't have to meet Dipper's eyes.

“Fine,” was all he found himself saying aloud. “Fix me.” He was talking about a lot more than just the bleeding cut on his hand, though.

Dipper grabbed the bag of cotton balls and tore it open with his teeth before taking one out. Then he picked up the brown container and twisted open the top, after that proceeding to press its opening onto the cotton ball and turning it upside down, only long enough to soak it and not make a mess. And, finally, he pressed the wettened cotton ball against the cut on Bill's palm.

It stung. A lot.

The older male screwed his eyes shut in pain. “Ah… What the hell is that liquid stuff?”

“Hydrogen peroxide. It stops infections.” Dipper replied, and moved the cotton ball downwards to dab off the blood that had drained down to Bill”s arm. When he was done, he put it down and grabbed Bill's hand in his own again to look at the cut again.

“Okay,” he said. “It stopped bleeding. That's good. It'll heal before you know it.”

“Great.” Bill said in a dry tone, tearing his hand away and holding it open so he could examine the cut himself. It _had_ stopped bleeding, like Dipper told him, but in its wake it left behind a thin, long reddish-pink line. Soon it was going to turn a white color, he knew, and then the skin would eventually mend itself. _Before you know it,_ he thought.

“What were you planning on accomplishing, anyway, trying to pick up glass like that?” Dipper asked, grabbing his attention.

“I wasn't trying to pick up glass,” the older male retorted, despite knowing somewhere inside he was most likely wrong regarding that. He didn't really know at all what he had done to cut his hand in such a way in the first place- the only thing he could force himself to remember was the glass slipping out of his fingers… and then he was bleeding on the ground. It was almost as if he had blacked out as some point between the occurrence of these two events, yet not because he was sure he had been fully conscious the entire time.

Trying to make sense of everything was enough to give him a brain cramp.

“Okay, so _maybe_ I was trying to pick up glass,” he grumbled under his breath, using his uninjured hand to rub at his temples, “but I have no idea why, so please don't ask.” That was as close to making sense as he was going to get, wasn't it? “I don't know what happened.” _It all happened so fast,_ he thought.

Honestly, he had been expecting some kind of witty remark from his roommate in return for saying something so stupid and illogical- which was why he was surprised when he _didn't_ get one. Instead, the brunet moved to sit down next to him on the ground, placing his hands on his knees and staring off into the distance.

“You're impossible,” he whispered at last.

Bill smirked despite his want to burst out into tears and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

But he couldn't hold up the façade for long, the smug look on his face dissolving just as fast as he had dropped the glass and cut his hands. He glared down at his bare feet, not saying anything until he couldn't take the new silence anymore.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You're right.”

“I'm… What?”

“You were _right.”_ Bill said again, this time twice as loud. He clenched his hands into fists. “You were right about me not being fine.” _Man,_ that felt good to say out loud. “I'm not fine. Not even a little smidgen of fine. My life fucking sucks balls and I am _so fucking sick_ of people trying to make me feel better by telling me that things are going to get better, because they're _not._ Things are _never_ going to get better for me.” He sighed. “Not unless you know how to magically bring someone back from the dead.”

Dipper was quiet, and he took it as an opportunity to press on. “Like, it's stupid. It's literally the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”

“...What is?”

“My mom. Dropping dead. Just like that.” Bill snapped his fingers for dramatic effect. “And sometimes I can't help but think about it and laugh at the thought, because it sounds _super fake,_ like… There's no way any of this could possibly be real. There's no way I could possibly never be able to talk to her again, because she's _always there,_ ya know? There's _no way_ this isn't just some cruel, sick joke.” He chuckled lowly and clutched his stomach.

“But then I remember that I'm awake and this is _really real_ and she's never going to come back… It feels like someone burned a hole in my stomach and filled it in with asphalt, and it hurts _so fucking much-”_ He cut off and let out a shaky breath; he could actually _feel_ the asphalt in his body as he spoke. “And, no, it's not okay, and anyone who tells me it is needs to shut the fuck up. It's _never_ going to be okay.”

Dipper didn't say anything to him for a long time. Then, “Well, maybe it isn't. I can't say I can relate to your situation, because I haven't lost either one of my parents- but I can't even imagine how terrible it must be for you. Especially considering your other parent is a complete jerk.” Bill turned to look at him, and he continued. “But I think you should try to think about the good times you had with your mom, you know? Maybe that helps, I think? And, uh, maybe remember the promise you made to her.”

Bill lurched forward a second time, ready to vomit again- but he only dry heaved, as there was nothing left in his system, and his roommate patted his back soothingly.

When he regained his composure, he moved back into the pretzel position he had been in prior to moving and glared at the other male. _“How. How_ do you know about the promise?”

Dipper blushed. “O-Oh. I-” He gulped. “I remember Pyronica telling me on the first day of classes. But she never told me what the promise is about or anything, I swear!” He held his hands up defensively. “She just told me you _made_ a promise to your mom, and for me to remind you of it when you were bummed.”

 _Pyronica._ Wonderful. Now Bill had yet another reason to punch the damn girl in the face. Although… the kid didn't ever _ask_ anything regarding the promise, so he supposed it was sort of okay.

But he still had the right to be pissed off about it.

“The promise isn't important,” he assured, his eyes fluttering shut. “It was nothing more than one of those dumb promises all kids make to their parents, like ‘I promise I'll graduate from high school,’ and ‘I promise I'll go to a good college and get a high paying job.’ You know, the kind that most kids don't wind up fulfilling because they're lazy assholes.” _Besides, I wouldn't even know how to fulfill it, anyway._ “Idiots like me, honestly.” He opened his eyes again and glanced at his roommate. “Point being, yeah, it doesn't matter. Not in the slightest.”

Dipper didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded. “Okay, sounds great. I'm glad it, uh, doesn't matter,” he mumbled, and started to pick at the lint on his socks. “I mean, I know you're lying to me again, but I'll stay positive and take what I can get.”

“Oh, _please._ How do you know whether I'm lying to you or not?”

“I can because of two reasons, actually.” Dipper said without looking up at him. “The first is that you have this guilty expression. Though, technically, it's not an expression, per see, because its more of a look in your eyes. And, two,” he pressed on after taking a breath, “I'm choosing not to believe most things you tell me anymore because, pretty much all the time. I have no idea if what you're saying is true or not.” Bill noticed his tone wasn't angry or upset, just laced with disappointment. And the older male had no idea to whom the disappointment was directed.

Bill felt his heart clench. “So, that's it, then. Everything I say is nothing but a half-assed lie?”

Dipper shrugged.

 _Great._ Great _,_ Bill thought. _This is completely fucking fantastic. I ruin everything, as per usual. Absolutely fucking fantastic._

“I hope you don't mind if I ask you about something, though,” the brunet male blurted out. “And it's fine if you lie to me about that, too. It wouldn't be anything new.”

“What is it?” Bill asked nervously.

“I know you're not going to talk to me about Halloween, because its out of the question or whatever, but…” Dipper drifted off, but then picked up again after a moment. “What… Do… I dunno… Do I mean anything to you? Because I've been trying really hard to be your friend, but it feels like you don't even care.”

Bill was taken aback by the nature of the question. As badly as he would have liked to lie, as well, he couldn't seem to come up with anything believable- and wasn't that the point of a lie? To make it sound believable?

“You're… You're like a breath of fresh air,” he admitted- but, though it was true, it didn't brand a reaction of any sorts from his roommate. “It feels like I'm constantly drowning, and you keep pulling my head out of the water.”

Still nothing.

He straightened in his spot stared ahead at nothing.

Once again, he was consumed by more painful silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am obligated to say that comments make my shitty days feel not so shitty. :D


	20. Love is Elusive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends. I'm here to bless you with another chapter. 
> 
> But, wait. This chapter isn't exactly a happy one, so I wouldn't really say _bless..._
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> And before I forget, one of my real life friends, Kayleigh, made a [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL89t3iJFfKICsrm-XUjnYWBw-3COKs8Mm) for this fic. (Thanks again, Kay!)

A happy, enthusiastic sort of hop in his step, Dipper made his way down the dorm halls until he came upon his own room's door and, humming cheerfully, he took his copy of the room's key out of his pocket and used it to unlock the door before pushing it open and walking inside, closing the door behind himself.

He took out his phone next and held it up to add some light to the dark room. As he would have expected, the room itself was deathly quiet and void like- and as it should have been, seeing it was about a quarter to five in the morning.

He let his bag drop to the ground and used his phone to guide himself to the bed. When he got there, he quickly changed into his pajamas then sat down and, once he had gotten accustomed to the unwelcoming, creaking mattress, he put the phone down and began to pull his shoes off his feet, placing them down at the foot of the bed; while he completed these tasks silently, he awaited a reaction from his roommate, who he was certain had to have been awoken by now.

“You'll never believe how great my break was,” he said, without actually lifting his head to look over at the other male. He picked up his phone again, only to turn it off and rest it on the nightstand. He sighed and got into a lying position, grabbing at some of the blanket and using it to cover up almost completely, continuing on. “You should've seen what Mabel did with the mashed potatoes and gravy. Mom and Dad- er, I mean, my parents,” he cautioned, namely to himself as to not hurt Bill’s feelings in some way, “were freaking out so much. I was laughing for _such_ a long time.”

There was no reply from his roommate. He turned his head slightly to the side in order to look at him. “Bill? Are you listening? Or are you still sleeping?”

He had to squint in the darkness in order to see well. It took a moment or two, but it finally dawned upon him that he was the only lying in bed at the moment- where the resting form of Bill should have been was nothing more than some crumpled up blanket; which he found himself embarrassed by. Why hadn't he noticed Bill wasn't there before? He figured maybe it was because he hadn't slept at all during the plane ride. He was tired.

Blame aside, he sat upright carefully and groped the nightstand for his phone. When his fingers brushed against it at last, he turned it back on and switched on its flashlight, waving the device around the room to see if Bill was anywhere there.

Nothing.

None of the lights in the room were on, either.

Was Bill even _here?_ And, if he wasn't, where would he be? Was he hanging out with one of his friends?

“Bill?” Dipper decided to ask the dark room, getting to his feet while continuing to wave around the flashlight. He walked over to the room's other bed and, finding nothing to help him, he went to the kitchen to check there, only to find it was empty in there, as well.

There was no Bill.

“Bill? Are we playing a game of hide-and-seek you didn't tell me about? Manhunt?” He began to walk over towards the bathroom now, the dark claw of dread growing in his chest and scratching at his heart. _Please tell me you're not in there right now,_ he begged the universe, stopping when he was in front of the door.

He lowered his phone and used his free hand to rap on the door trice with his knuckles. “Bill. _Bill._ Are you in there?” Of course, he had been expecting to not get a response, but it still kind of hurt when he _actually_ didn't get one.

“Don't you think it's weird, being in the bathroom without the light on?” he joked halfheartedly, reaching down and placing his hand on the knob and turning it. To his surprise, it wasn’t locked as he would have expected it to be. It opened easily.

“Uh, I'm coming in,” he announced, pushing the door open fully and hesitantly putting one foot inside, followed by the other a few seconds later. “So don't be, like, naked or anything.” He blindly reached along the wall for the light switch and, when he found it, flipped it up and lightened the room.

As a way of putting it gently, what he did _not_ expect to see was Bill curled up in a feeble ball on the ground near the toilet, a thin string of saliva escaping one corner of his lips. His golden gaze was distant, and Dipper took a second or two to notice he held his glasses in both of his hands tightly, like it were some sort of precious item. He didn't so much as flinch when the light turned on.

“Hey,” was all he muttered in reaction, his eyes sliding shut easily.

Dipper walked towards him cautiously, on the way storing his phone in his pajama shirt's pocket before leaning down slightly to better match Bill's current level. “Hey,” he returned as casually as he could muster, swallowing bile in his throat. “What are you doing in here? Shouldn't you be sleeping?” _At least he doesn't seem to be doing anything too bad,_ he thought, _even_ if _he looks like he's secretly wishing for the sweet release of death._

“Well, I felt sick so I decided to go to the bathroom.” Bill replied almost instantaneously. His eyes were still shut tight. “Then I started throwing up chunks.”

“Oh.” Dipper could tell he was telling the truth for once; if the stain on the blond's shirt or the rank smell (that was definitely not the result of digestion) coming from the toilet was any type of indication. “When was the last time you ate?” It might've been why Bill had kept getting so sick recently. Dipper couldn't exactly recall the last time he'd seen Bill eat at all.

“Four days ago.”

 _“Four days ago?”_ Dipper echoed, his eyes widening. He counted back the days in his head. “So the last time you ate was Thanksgiving day…” As he sat down better comfort, he frowned. “Why wouldn't you eat for so long? Do you have any food left over from Thanksgiving?”

I have _a lot_ of food left over from Thanksgiving,” Bill replied cryptically, “but I’m not hungry.” After a moment passed and he didn't continue, it became painfully apparent he didn't want to say anything else regarding the topic of conversation.

This was confirmed when he let out a breath through his nose and pulled his hands apart some, revealing his glasses. “I, uh… They're broken.”

The mention of his glasses was obviously an attempt to divert Dipper's attention from his bad eating habits, but it was true. Not only was one of the lenses cracked, but it was also broken in half; and, knowing Bill, it was probably done intentionally.

 _How_ they had been broken so badly, though, Dipper didn't know. But he figured he wouldn't ever be able to find out, either, as he _also_ knew Bill enough to guess he wouldn't willingly give an honest answer to his inquiries.

“That's fine,” the brunet managed, trying to give his tone a reassuring edge. “Those glasses were, like, three years old, anyways. You can always go to the optometrist and get new ones.” _If you have insurance, that is,_ a part of his mind nagged at him, once he vaguely remembered Bill's financial situation.

Bill shook his head. _No insurance, then,_ Dipper assumed.

A moment of quiet passed before Dipper decided to speak again. “Um…” Biting down on his lower lip, he allowed his eyes to search the room as he racked his brain for something to talk about.

An idea finally snaking its way into his head, he released his lip and looked back at Bill, who had long since begun picking at some gunk on the floor. “What kind of food do you have left over?”

His roommate seemed to consider the question. “Well, there's pumpkin spice cake… But that tastes better hot.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “And there are a few Hershey bars left over, too. I could always melt some on the stove and make hot chocolate.” As he spoke, he propped himself up on his elbows and a childish light grew in his eyes, one that relieved Dipper ever so slightly.

But that moment of excitement was short lived, however, as Bill's face turned a light shade of pink a few seconds later and he turned away. “It's literally five o'clock in the fucking morning. We should go to sleep.” He groaned audibly and got back into his previous lying position, puffing up his cheeks with air.

So much for that idea. _Now to try the direct approach._ Dipper brought his knees to his chest and hugged them tight. “Seriously, though, Bill. Four days is a long time. You need to eat,” he pointed out.

This branded no response from Bill. All the blond did was wave one of his hands dismissively and stare up at the ceiling.

He looked thoughtful.

Mentally admitting defeat, Dipper lied down on the ground next to him, and they spent the next few moments or so in another bout of silence.

* * *

 

Come winter break, Dipper found himself in yet another uncomfortable situation- however, this one had a different nature than the one before it.

“What's your favorite color?”

“Anything that isn't green.”

“What's your favorite kind of cereal?”

“I don't know, man, I'm not too into cereal. Lucky Charms?”

“Hmm… How about your sexual preference?”

“Now this is just getting personal.”

Mabel raised both her brows, a small smile playing over one side of her lips. “I'm only trying to start a casual conversation, there's no need to be so touchy about it,” she said, then picked a fry up off her plate and popped it in her mouth.

“I think you have a hard understanding the fact that I don't like you.” Bill was grinning, though, as he followed her action and ate a fry off his plate.

Dipper only stared at his own food as his sister and his roommate went back and forth with one another, his hands resting on his knees, which were shaking with nervousness.

In retrospect, the initial idea of Mabel coming over to Oregon to visit Dipper and see his school for winter break instead of him going back to California had seemed like a good idea at the time that their parents had suggested it, but now it felt more like a mistake. Dipper couldn't recall ever feeling so uncomfortable in his entire life.

Sure, Mabel and Bill seemed to get along well enough since Mabel had arrived a few days prior… but there was still something about it all about that messed with his stomach. He assumed it was due to the certainty that, sooner or later, one of them was going to say something completely embarrassing about him to the other.

Though it hadn't exactly happened _yet,_ it had to eventually, right?

However, his was brought out of his frantic thoughts by the sound of his name being said. He lifted his head and was immediately greeted with his sister's intense gaze.

“Yeah?” he asked, still a little out of it. He shook his head in order to clear it.

“You barely touched any of your fries, Dip.” Mabel said quietly, her eyes on his plate. She gestured to it with one hand. “Aren't you hungry? You didn't eat breakfast this morning, either…” Trailing off, she turned her head in Bill's direction. “Hey, you, roommate guy,” she said. “Tell Dipper he needs to eat or he'll die.”

Bill shrugged and lifted his burger off his own plate. “If he doesn't eat his food, then I can just give it to someone else. Everybody loves my food.” He brought his burger to his lips and chewed smugly.

Mabel shook her head, obviously not satisfied with his response. “Boys,” she muttered, like that explained everything.

“What are you getting your degree in, anyway?” Bill asked after a few seconds, between bites of his food. He lazily wiped at his mouth with his shirt sleeve, to Dipper's silent disgust. “Or did you tell me that already? Did I even ask?”

Mabel giggled. “Nope. You _never_ asked.”

Dipper rubbed at his temples. _Here we go,_ he thought.

Waving a fry from her plate as if it were a sword, the female twin began, “Well, I'm a woman of many talents, not limited to a great fashion sense and great observatory skills…”

“Modest, too.” Bill muttered under his breath, not loud enough for her to hear, and Dipper smirked.

“...and wonderful attention to detail, so it would only make sense for me to-”

“You're in it for photography, then,” interrupted Bill with a disinterested tone, picking up a leftover tomato slab from his plate and shoving it in his mouth.

Mabel blinked. “How did you-”

 _“Please,_ kid. I figured it out a while ago. You literally have a fucking Polaroid camera hanging around your neck. I'm not an idiot.” Bill stood and, ignoring the look Mabel was giving him (she had her tongue sticking out at him), picked up his now empty plate. “Anyways, though, is anyone else done with their food?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think I'm good.” Mabel replied, already over her previous mood, and handed him her plate, which still held a few fries and a half earn burger. “Would you mind wrapping up the food for me, though? You have some seriously freaking good food.”

Bill nodded and Dipper handed him his plate, too. “You can just give mine to someone else, if you want.”

“Um, _actually,”_ Mabel intervened, “wrap up his food for me, too. Thanks, sweetie.”

Once Bill had disappeared into the kitchen to do so, Mabel rested her face in her hands and gazed at her brother with a dreamy sort of expression.

“What?” Dipper asked, though he felt he already knew what she was going to say.

“He's hot.”

Sighing, Dipper grabbed his glass of water off the table and took a sip. “You think every guy you meet is hot,” he pointed out.

“That's not wrong, but _look_ at him, Bro! The cute l'il freckles all over his face, gorgeous, exotic eyes, not to mention he’s funny, quirky… And he can _cook,_ for God's sake!” Mabel threw her arms in the air. “He's perfect. You literally have the best possible roommate, like, ever in existence.” Humming, she grabbed a napkin and began folding it into a miniature hat. “He was born in the U.K., too. London, England, to be specific. _London,_ Dipper. English guys are, like, crazy attractive.” And, after a pause, “I mean, he doesn't have the accent, probably from living in America for so long, but-”

“Wow, okay.” Dipper sighed again. “If you like him so much, then why don't you just marry him.”

Mabel smirked, undeterred. “Oh, no, he's not my type.”

Dipper was going to ask what she was trying to say, but was cut off just short of speaking when Bill came back in from the kitchen and sat down in his previous place. After this the three of them were quiet for a moment or two, Mabel humming and beginning to tap away on her phone and Bill drumming his fingers on the table to a tune Dipper thought he recognized.

“So…,” Mabel cut in as Bill's drumming ceased, tucking her phone away in her shirt's chest pocket. She turned to look at Bill. “I'm sure Dipper's told you by now that we're Jewish, not Christian, so we don't really celebrate Christmas. So, even though Christmas is only a few days away from today…”

Bill squinted at her- since his glasses had been broken, it became a habit of his. “Oh, yeah, sure. But he didn't tell me until a little too late. I really only got one gift each for you guys.”

“Eh, it's fine,” the female twin dismissed. “Finances have been kind of weird with my family lately, anyway, with Dipper and me going to college at the same time, so I got one gift each, too. It won't be the traditional Hanukkah, but it'll do. Oh, and speaking of-” She reached into her bag, which had been lying on the ground near her, and pulled out something that had been wrapped carefully in cloth. Once it had been unwrapped, Dipper realized it was a hanukkiyah. “Hanukkah itself was a few weeks ago, but me and Dipper couldn't celebrate it as a family with our family, obviously because winter break wasn't then. I don't understand, though, why they gotta call it winter break if it's only a good time for Christians to celebrate Christmas and New Year? Like, why do they have to throw their religion onto everything? Just because they're more popular than us…”

As she rambled on, Bill and Dipper exchanged glances. Dipper mouthed _You get used to it._

“Hey, Bill.” Mabel snapped her fingers at who she was addressing, then placed the hanukkiyah on the table. “Got a lighter? I need to light the shammash.”

“Sure. Whatever that means.” Bill pulled a cigarette lighter out of one of his hoodie's pockets. He handed it to her, and she used it to light the shammash before handing it back and picking up the shammash to light another candle.

“There,” she said. “Nine more days left in break, seven more candles. We can do this.”

“Are we going to open the gifts now, or are we waiting?” Bill asked, a brow raised in question.

Mabel hummed in thought a moment before responding. “Nah, how's about we wait until the last day to open the gifts?”

“Why not? I'll be more excited if we do that, anyway.” Bill said.

They both turned to look at Dipper, who found himself caught off guard by the sudden attention.

He hesitated. “Uh, sure. I don't mind waiting.”

Bill looked away from him first, beginning to run his fingertips over the wooden surface of the table. He pursed his lips in thought, then said, “Wait a minute. If you guys are Jewish…” He lifted his head and glanced at each of the twins in turn. “...why do you guys celebrate Thanksgiving?”

“Oh, that's an easy one.” Mabel replied. “Technically speaking, Thanksgiving is an _American_ holiday, and we live in America, so it would make sense. But it's namely because not everybody in our extended family is Jewish, so it's really the only holiday we can manage to meet halfway on. Kinda works out for all of us, you know?”

“Huh.” Bill looked uninterested. Dipper was tempted to ask why he would want to know if he wasn't interested, but didn't due to the blond suddenly getting to his feet and stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“Well, whatever,” he said. “I'll be back later.” He headed towards the other side of the room, the side where his bed was, and opened one of his drawers. He pulled out a small gift wrapped present.

“Where are you going?” Dipper asked, following his movements.

“And what's that?” Mabel piped in.

“To see Pyronica.” Bill replied, though he sounded exhausted all of a sudden. “She's leaving to visit her family for Christmas later today and I figured I'd give her her present before then.”

“Pyronica?” Mabel echoed.

Bill moved the present to rest under on arm. “Her name's Veronica. Pyronica's just a dumb nickname,” he explained quickly, and flashed the twins a fast salute. “Again. See you.” And, before either of them could offer a proper reaction, he was out of the room, the door shut behind him.

“What's his problem?” the female twin grumbled, reaching into her shirt pocket to pull out her phone.

Dipper stared at the door a moment more, brows furrowed. _He sure has been hanging out with Py a lot lately._  

He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

* * *

 

The next day, Mabel had been in the shower when Dipper walked into the kitchen.

Bill was already there, mixing ingredients into a bowl, his back turned to the younger male.

“Hey.” Dipper greeted almost inaudibly, causing him to stiffen in his spot.

Bill glanced at him for a moment, expression unreadable, before he turned back to the bowl. “Hey,” he replied.

“So, uh…” Dipper took a shy step forward. “How's Hanukkah going for you so far? Are you having fun?”

“It's not really my cup of tea, but it's fine.” Bill said, pulling his spoon out of his mixture. He licked it, then made a face and put it back in. “Shit.”

“What's wrong?”

A sigh emitted from the senior. “My mom's cookie recipe is what's wrong. I know I'm missing an ingredient, but I can't remember what it is.” He scooped up the spoon and held it out to the other male. “Here. Stuff this in your face hole.”

Dipper eyed the wooden utensil hesitantly. “Um…”

“You act like you've never seen ingredients mixed in a bowl before. Just try it.”

“Y-Yeah. Sure.” Still feeling rather dubious, Dipper leaned forward slightly and took the spoon between his lips, involuntarily closing his eyes at the flavor, a tiny moan slipping out.

When reality caught up to him, he opened his eyes and pulled away. Wiping his mouth with one hand, he tried not to think about the fact that he and Bill had technically shared the same spoon and failed miserably. He looked up at his roommate, expecting a smirk or a snarky comment, but the blond's expression was indifferent.

“Tastes horrible, right?” Bill asked.

“Uh…” Dipper licked his dry lips, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It's fine. It doesn't taste like you're missing anything.”

Bill scoffed and glared down at the floor.

 _Did I say something wrong?_ Dipper trailed his gaze downward as well to see what his roommate was looking at, only to be greeted by the tiled floor. He lifted his gaze after a few seconds and began to glance around the room instead, desperately searching for a topic of conversation.

Finally, he let out a breath through his nose and wrapped his arms around himself. “Are… are we okay?” he asked cautiously. Not to his surprise, this question was responded to with a dirty look.

“What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?” Bill asked, his voice practically a snarl. Dipper fought the urge to flinch away, somehow managing to stand his ground despite the pool of fear beginning to form in his stomach.

“I don't _know,”_ he replied, arms still wound tightly around his own body. “It's just… You have some kind of problem with me and I don't know what it is. Excuse me if that warrants some concern.” He lowered his brows. “I really wish you'd just tell me what's wrong with you.”

His roommate snickered, slamming the spoon down onto the counter. “I already _did_ tell you what's wrong, you moron. Don't you _get it?”_ His body was trembling with rage now. “I'm _Bambi,_ remember?” Dipper was confused before he continued. “I'm the sad little cartoon character with big eyes, remember? My mother got shot down by the big bad hunter and now she's dead and I'm all alone in the woods.” A passive aggressive grew blew over his features. “All. Alone. In. The. Woods. _Remember?”_

“That's a very pessimistic way of looking at things.”

“And just why do you think _that_ is?” Bill demanded. He clenched his hands into fists, and Dipper almost thought he was going to punch him, but, fortunately, his fists only fell down limply to his sides, though they were growing tighter by the second. “How _else_ do you expect me to look at things, huh? ‘Oh, life is great! I'm gonna fall in love with my soulmate and grow fat and old and die happily!’ _No._ That does _not_ happen in real life.” Licking the saliva off his lips, he spun around and faced away from Dipper, anger radiating off him in invisible waves.

Dipper dared to take another step towards him, his own hands falling down to his sides as well. “How do you know what things are like in real life? You don't even know what real life _is._ It has good things, too, you know!” Unconsciously, he threw his arms in the air and waved them around madly as he spoke, all before burying them in his hair. “Maybe if you could just stop being so arrogant for _one second,_ you would be able to see-”

“Pyronica's _pregnant.”_

Dipper froze. His arms fell. 

For a second or two, they were both quiet as Dipper tried to process what had just been said- the two words that made all the difference.

And, when he did: “What.”

Bill licked his lips again, this time more slowly. His eyes were wild and distant and out of control, not seeming to be able to meet the brunet's; they traveled around the kitchen instead, as if he were trying to find something else to focus his attention on.

“Yeah,” he said, like he didn't quite understand his own words. “She's about three months in." 

“Whose is it?” Dipper asked.

Bill looked distracted. “Whose is what?”

“Whose baby is it?” Dipper clarified, feeling a bit lightheaded. “Who's the dad? Does Py know who the dad is?”

Bill pursed his lips.

 _“Bill._ Does Py know who the dad is?”

Nothing.

Then, “Yeah.” Bill's eyes slipped shut slowly as he responded, and he rubbed his temples. “She knows that it's me. I'm the dad.” His eyes opened again, still unfocused. “I know it's me, too. I'm the only guy she's ever had sex with. It has to be me.”

Dipper exhaled. “Why am I not surprised to hear this,” he muttered, namely to himself, but blanched when he saw his roommate bristle again; he'd heard.

“What are you trying to _say?”_ Bill asked. His voice was quiet and soft, a deadly sort of calm. He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Because _I_ think-”

“Guys?”

Both males whipped their heads in the direction from where the voice had originated, from just outside the kitchen.

Mabel was standing there, a towel draped around her shoulders and her hair wet and dripping. Her brown eyes landed on her brother. Then on Bill. Then on her brother again.

“Did I miss something?” she asked.

Dipper opened his mouth to lie and say everything was fine, but was cut off by Bill, who pushed himself away from the counter.

“No,” he said. “I was just leaving.”

He made a show of pushing past Dipper and stepping around Mabel on his way out the room. About a minute passed in silence after he disappeared from the kitchen before there was the loud, agonizing sound of the room's door slamming.

Mabel ran a hand through her hair. “Yeesh. Poor soul,” she whispered.

Dipper wordlessly agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY TOO I PROMISE.
> 
> Oh, and you also may have noticed that this fic is marked /30 and not /28 anymore. Well, the reason for that is because I wanted to add in *incoherent mumbling*
> 
> So, yeah. Have a nice day/night. Whatever the fuck time of day you're going through right now. :D
> 
> P.S. Thanks for so many hits, comments, and kudos!!! It makes me so happy!!!


	21. Love is Passive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE BITCH.
> 
> Here I am, posting this chapter, after fighting with Google Docs and AO3 all day. (No, seriously, this is like my third attempt at posting it and I'm so fucking tired I just wanna take a nap.)

“Did it start bleeding again?”

“Yeah… pretty bad this time, too.”

Dipper sighed through his nose and took Bill's reddened hand gingerly in both of his, examining the reopened cut on it with caution. Even though it'd been a little over a month since Bill had cut his hand with the glass cup, the cut itself didn't look like it’d been healing all that well. In fact, it seemed as if it had gotten _worse_ after reopening.

“What did you do?” Dipper asked, his gaze lifting to meet his roommate's hesitant one. Bill shrugged, and he furrowed his brows. “Bill, what did you _do?”_

“I didn't do _anything,_ I swear.” Bill replied, sounding as frustrated as Dipper felt. “It just opened all on its own. Like, I woke up and moved it, and suddenly there was blood everywhere.”

Biting down harshly on his bottom lip, Dipper resisted the urge to sigh a second time. Being woken up at three in the morning wasn’t exactly the kind of thing to help his mood.

He released Bill's hand and stepped away from him long enough to look in the medicine cabinet and take out a first aid kit. He opened it and took out a roll of bandages, then placed the kit down on the side of the sink and picked up a rag that had, conveniently, been within arm's reach.

He headed back to his roommate and dabbed at the leaking blood with the rag. “Okay, I'll fix you up again, but this is the last time,” he said, starting to wrap the bandages around Bill's hand. “And don't just remove the bandages, please. You don't want to get an infection, do you?”

“Technically it’ll heal faster if it gets air.” Bill grumbled, eyes rolling up and into his head. “Besides, I asked you to help me with my hand, not for you to give me mom tips, thanks.” At the last word, he yanked his now-wrapped hand away roughly and looked down at it, frowning. Then a grin formed over one corner of his lips and he wiggled his fingers around a little. “Do you think I would've made a good mummy for Halloween?” he asked.

“I don't know. I guess you'd look alright.” Dipper grumbled rather tiredly, putting the bandages in the first aid kit and stowing it back into the cabinet. He yawned into his fist, then walked towards the other side of the bathroom to shut the window, which had been slightly ajar, allowing unnaturally cold air to slip inside.

“Tired?” Bill asked, his bandaged hand falling down to his side. His grin fell away.

“What do you think?” Dipper asked, feeling slightly bitter as he rubbed his eyes.

Bill leaned the back of his head against the nearest wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist. We were gonna have to wake up early to take your sister to the airport, anyway.”

“Yeah. In, like, _three hours.”_ Dipper sidestepped his roommate in order to head out of the bathroom, and the blond followed suit, switching off the light and closing the door after himself.

Once they had both crept silently into the kitchen (neither of them wanted to be loud enough as to awaken Mabel), Dipper started a pot of coffee. He didn’t speak until the water began to percolate. “Guess you’re going to get a bed again.” It was a half-joke, laced with some truth; ever since Mabel had first come over, Bill had insisted on spending the nights in a sleeping bag on the floor so she wouldn’t have to.

It took some Dipper some time to realize it was his way of hiding from Mabel the fact that they'd been sharing a bed over the past few months.

Bill’s nose crinkled playfully. “Yeah. Thank God, too. The floor is _really_ cold this time of year, you know.” He snorted and reached into the nearest cabinet and took out two mugs. “Here ya go,” he said in a singsong voice, placing them down on the counter near the younger male. Then he headed over to the fridge to go retrieve a carton of creamer.

Dipper began to pour the coffee before it was ready, adding two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of creamer to his mug, whereas Bill instead added only a teaspoon of brown sugar to his own and left it black.

“Did you get any blood on your sleeping bag?” the younger of the two asked, gingerly picking up his mug and taking a small sip of the scalding liquid inside. It burned his tongue instantly and warmed his fingers, which had been frozen to the point of falling off. He let out a breath. “Because we can throw it in the wash when we get back from the airport.”

“Sure, kid. Whatever works for you.” Bill said quickly, turning away from him abruptly and walking off.

Dipper pressed his lips into a thin line. _Nice talking to you, too,_ he thought.

* * *

 

“This is the final call for passengers boarding flight 117B to Piedmont, California. Please proceed to gate three immediately."

After all the super-tight, lingering goodbye hugs and the hard pats on the back, the last of Mabel’s flowing brunette curls finally disappeared in a crowd of people as she ran to gate three, glitterized bags in her hands.

Dipper headed across the street once she was gone, to an Internet cafe where Bill had insisted on staying while he dropped Mabel off. He was relieved to see his roommate inside, seated at a table near the back, a cup of coffee squeezed in one of his hands. The fingers on his other hand, his bandaged one, were tapping, tapping, tapping against the surface of the table, a way to expel nervous energy.

Bill’s head shot up when Dipper sat in the chair across from him.

“More coffee? How much do you _need?”_ Dipper asked, using his feet to scoot in his chair. It wasn’t until then that it became apparent to him how much better layered he was than his roommate; he, dressed in a winter jacket and thick gloves, and Bill, who was simply wearing his trademark hoodie.

 _Tap, tap, tap._ “It calms my nerves.”

Dipper’s eyes lowered down to Bill’s hand, which began to clench and unclench. “I can see that.”

Bill sighed. “I’m just tired,” he mumbled. Dipper thought there was a deeper meaning to those words, though, as the older male brought the cup to his lips, his bandaged hand at last coming to a complete halt.

His own gloved fingers curling into the pockets of his jacket, Dipper directed his gaze at the nearest wall. Green wallpaper screamed back at him. He tried to think of what to say, what wouldn’t hurt Bill’s feelings. What wouldn’t taint their already fragile friendship.

Then, words forming in his mind and one corner of his lips curling up slowly, he removed his hands from his pockets and placed them palm-down on the table, leaning forward.

“Hey,” he whispered, gathering all the courage he could muster. When Bill’s eyes hesitantly met his, he added, “I think I like it better when you smile. You should smile more.”

Bill scoffed and looked away, sitting back all the way in his chair, his shoulders squaring. “Don’t be stupid.”

The next few minutes were spent in silence, Bill’s eyes traveling and looking at anything except Dipper and Dipper racking his brain, trying to come up with a good conversation topic.

Finally, Dipper reached over for the menu sitting at the center of the table and propped it open, examining the contents in much-too-perfect images inside. He glanced up only when he noticed Bill was watching him with an unreadable expression. _What is he thinking?_ He cleared his throat to calm his sudden nerves, but his tongue was dry when he asked, “Did you eat anything for breakfast?” Bill didn’t reply, and he looked back down and muttered, “Right. So, uh, do you want anything? I’ll pay.”

“No thanks, what I make is way better than anything they could serve at this place.” Bill said, pushing his coffee away and leaning his face in one of his hands. “What about _you,_ though. What did _you_ eat for breakfast?”

Defeated, Dipper got himself his own cup of coffee, figuring it'd help him gain the energy to get back to the dorms; getting on the public bus was more exhausting than it sounded. “No one eats breakfast at three in the morning,” he muttered in reply, a little too late.

Bill peered at him as if he were being cute, though still not smiling. “You have a response to _everything,_ don't you?”

Dipper looked down to hide a grin. “No idea.”

They were quiet again for some time, both drinking their coffee in a sort of blissful calm. Surprisingly, Dipper managed to empty his cup first despite Bill being there longer.

And, when they were both done, Bill waved over a waiter to take their cups and pushed out of his chair, wiping his hands on his pants. “Alright, Pine Tree, let's get out of here before I start to lose my ever-loving mind.”

“Like you haven't lost your mind already?” the freshman asked, getting up as well. He pushed his chair in and followed his roommate out.

“Ha, kid, you're hilarious.” Bill held open the door for him with one hand to let him outside first. “Have you ever considered becoming a comedian?”

“I'll keep that suggestion in mind. You know, in case my writing career flops.”

“I think what you mean to say is, _when_ it flops.” Bill chimed.

Dipper stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You're an ass.”

Bill laughed- an action that changed everything about him. His previously tense state suddenly dispersed, his face warmed. And, for a second, a split second, Dipper forgot how he'd been so anxious and stiff only about fifteen minutes ago.

But, before the brunet could so much as react, Bill's laughter ceased and he walked on ahead.

“How much cash do you have on you?” he asked, pulling his hood over his head. “I think I have a twenty and some change.”

“Um…” Dipper tried to count numbers in his head as he broke off into a jog to catch up with his roommate. The last time he checked… “I have two twenties, a ten, and a five. Oh, and thirty-two cents.” He frowned. “I don't think it'll cost that much for the bus, though. The dorms aren't _that_ far away.”

“No, it's not about the bus.” Bill's gaze was fixated ahead as he spoke, seeming to stare at nothing in particular. “We need to go to the store and get some stuff. I wanna bake a cake later.” He reached into one of his pockets and took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

Dipper inwardly cringed a bit at the sight of the cigarettes, but, deciding not to say anything about them, he instead asked, “Why would you bake a cake if you're not going to eat it?” He knew Bill didn't like sweets. _And, still, it wouldn't cost that much to buy cake ingredients._

Bill shrugged dismissively. “I like the process of making it. Besides, if I don't eat it, I'm sure _somebody_ else will, right? I know some people who would _kill_ for my food.” He grinned and pushed a cigarette between his lips, then used the lighter to ignite it. Letting out a puff of smoke, he stowed the lighter and the pack in his hoodie pocket, where they had been before. “And why do I need to justify my actions to you, yeesh. What I do with the cake is none of your business.”

“No need to be so be so defensive about it.” Dipper muttered under his breath, waving the smoke away with one hand, more concerned with avoiding it than with what his roommate was saying.

“There's a store only a few blocks away from here.” Bill said, obviously ignoring his previous statement, and tugged at his zipper. He seemed antsy all of a sudden. “So we can pick up the stuff and take the eight a.m. bus. Sound good with you?”

Dipper frowned, surprised by the sudden shift in mood. _What's all that about?_ “Uh, sure, why not. It works.”

“Come on, then. Let's get this over with.” Bill started off, not looking back to see if Dipper was following.

Once they made it to the store and went inside, Dipper sighed through his nose and tugged off his gloves. It was warm inside, _much_ warmer than it was on the outside, and the scent of lemons and something else acrid hit his nostrils upon entering.

He held his hands directly in front of his face and tried to warm his fingers with his breath, stopping only when he noticed Bill walking ahead without him again.

“What do we need to buy, exactly?” he asked, pushing himself against the nearest aisle to allow a man pushing a cart to pass by. “Uh, sugar, milk, eggs…” He blinked. “What kind of cake are you gonna make? Is it gonna be a regular cake?”

Bill reached down to grab a shopping basket, a frown plastered on his face. “What the fuck is a _regular_ cake? What even classifies a cake to be _regular.”_

“You know, the kind of cake people normally make… I think.” Dipper blushed. “Yellow cake with chocolate icing? Or is it gonna be kinda special, with, like, fudge in the center or something?”

This earned him an irritated snort from the older male. “Okay, kid. What kind of cake do _you_ want me to make?”

“Me? You’re asking _me?”_ Dipper spun around, as if expecting someone else to be standing behind him. _He couldn’t be asking me…?_ He swallowed and looked back at Bill, his brows furrowed. “Seriously?”

Bill rolled his eyes. “If you’re gonna be so damn jumpy about it…”

“N-no.” Dipper held up both his hands on instinct. Why did he feel so defensive about this? It was just a stupid cake. Was it because Bill was actually asking for his input on something? Or was it something else entirely?

He lowered his hands when he realized he’d spoken louder than he intended to. “U-uh… I-I mean… Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “No. It’s okay, it’s fine… Just give me a second to think. Of, you know, what kind of cake I want.”

“Well, don’t take too long, because we don’t have forever.”

Dipper pressed his lips into a thin line as he thought. Immediately, his mind gave him a million different ideas at once. He tapped his foot impatiently against the ground as he considered them; and, what felt like no more than a split second later, he was yanked out of his own head by the sharp sound of fingers snapping in his face.

Bill’s jaw was clenched. “You _are_ well aware that you’re making something super small something super big for no reason?”

“How about carrot?”

“What about carrots?” Bill asked immediately, lowering his hand.

“No.” Dipper licked his lips, feeling self-conscious for a reason he couldn’t quite explain. “I mean carrot cake. You know how to make carrot cake, right?”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “What kind of question is that? Of course I know how to make carrot cake. Come on.” He gestured with the basket for the younger male to follow him.

“What ingredients do you need?” Dipper asked, adjusting his beanie hat.

“Let me see…” Walking into an aisle, he grabbed a box of cake mix nearest him. He turned it so he could read the ingredients listed on the back, then grimaced and put it back. “Definitely not going to use _that,_ with so much damn fat and cholesterol. I'm an artist, not a serial killer. Why did we even come here?” he mumbled, leaning down slightly so he could push some boxes aside and look at the ones hidden behind them.

Dipper coughed into a fist. “Because it was _your_ idea, maybe?” he offered.

“It doesn't matter whose idea it was.” Bill said, leaning down a little more, down on one knee, so he could start to search the lowest shelf. “What matters is… I got it.”

“Got what?” Dipper asked, his eyes glued to the older male.

Bill pulled out a box of something Dipper didn't quite recognize (he later found out it was flour), tossing it into the basket before getting to his feet. He brushed nonexistent dust off his jeans with both his hands.

 

“The perfect recipe for carrot cake,” he replied, a small smirk gracing his features for no longer than a few seconds. Then he clicked his tongue. “We already have some of the ingredients for it back at our room. All we need to get is… um… confectioners' sugar, pecans, ground cinnamon, vanilla extract, and, of course, carrots.”

 

“Huh,” was all the younger could force himself to say out loud. “I didn't know you used _actual_ carrots in carrot cake. I thought it was an ironic thing. Like how there are those juices that _claim_ to have real fruit in them, but are full of nothing but artificial flavors."

“Not _everything_ is fake.” Bill pointed out. “Well, I mean, _most_ things are fake, but not _all_ things, ya know.” He laughed. “But, seriously, this is going to be the best carrot cake you've ever eaten.”

“It'd better be, with you talking so big about it.” Dipper replied cheekily, shaking his head.

They both made small talk as they began to retrieve the other needed ingredients for the cake, some of which were harder to find than others. And Dipper smiled to himself at one point or another, mildly impressed with Bill's creativity and ability to come up with a recipe on such a whim.

To his surprise, when he finally decided to look up at Bill, he noticed that the older male was smiling as well.

“What?” Bill asked, his smiling falling off his face when he realized he was being stared at. “Is there something wrong?”

Dipper felt his face heat up in return. “No, of course not. Sorry, sorry,” he defended quickly. “It's just…” He, once again, attempted to gather up his courage. His brow was creased when he asked, “Could…Could you do that again?”

This earned him a confused expression. Bill took a step away from him and his eyes searched the general area for a moment or two, probably checking to make sure that no one was watching them. “Could I do what again?”

“Smile.”

“Wh...What.” Bill's jaw tightened, as if he was trying to stop himself from completing the request. “Dude, we're in public and you're acting like an idiot.”

Dipper frowned. “But I… yeah.” He sighed in defeat and looked away.

Then he heard Bill mutter something incoherent, causing him to look back, just in time to see the blond's lips curl up ever so slightly; it was a small smile, though not really a genuine one.

Dipper, feeling a little better, nudged one of Bill's feet with his own. “See? That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“Whatever.” Either it was a trick of the light in that moment, or Bill's ears had turned pink as he lowered his gaze to recheck what items they had in the basket. “Okay, we got all the stuff we needed. Let's just pay and get the fuck outta here.” He lifted his gaze up to meet Dipper's, for a second, before he was walking off without warning for the umpteenth time that day.

Dipper met up with him at the checkout line, arriving just as Bill finished putting the items on the conveyor belt. “You _really_ need to stop leaving me behind like that. I can only walk so fast.”

“It's not _my_ fault you're so Goddamn slow,” replied Bill, pulling a wallet out of his hoodie pocket. He flashed a fake smile at the cashier as he took out his cash, whom had been staring at them with a curious expression as she scanned and bagged the items.

Eventually, she returned the smile with a cheesy one, taking Bill's twenty and giving him his change. “You took up early this morning?” she questioned, though the answer was obvious. Bill started to grab the bags and loop the holes in through his arms so he could more efficiently hold them. 

“We had to drop someone off at the airport.” Dipper explained, flinching away slightly at the glare he retrieved from Bill in response. _Did I do something wrong?_

“Let me guess. Family?”

“His twin sister.” Bill answered, nodding his head towards the exit as a way of telling Dipper it was time to leave. “I'm kind of glad she's gone, honestly. She was annoying.” Now it was Dipper's turn to glare.

The cashier laughed. “Ah, well…” She trailed off and cleared her throat. “Have a nice day, you two.”

“I'll sure as hell try to,” grumbled Bill as he waved in return, barely loud enough for Dipper to hear.

“Uh, you know, you don't have to hold all of those bags.” Dipper said once they were outside, pulling his gloves on his fingers as he spoke. His roommate's back was to him. “I can hold one if you wa-”

“What the _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you?” Bill snarled, suddenly spinning around on his heels to face him. “Do you have any _idea_ how stupid you were acting before? All cheery, like ‘Oh, you should smile more!’” His brows furrowed. “Like, what the _hell_ hit you on your head?”

“Me? _Me?”_ His gut filling with rage, Dipper clenched his hands into fists. _“I'm_ the one with the problem? I was just trying to cheer you up. _You're_ the one who's acting stupid! You're so weird! One moment you're _fine_ and the next moment you're all sal-” He stopped himself when he noticed that they were attracting the attention of passerby. Unclenching his fists, he let them fall down to his sides and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Are you _sure_ you're not bipolar?"

Bill scoffed, though his voice dropped down a notch or two as well. “Is that supposed to be a joke? Because I don't find it funny?” He slid a shopping bag off one of his arms and basically shoved it at Dipper. “You wanna hold a bag? _Here._ But _leave me alone.”_

“Why do you always have to be such a pain in my…,” Dipper started, but stopped himself once again, this time with an irritated groan. Fuming with rage, he followed the older male to the bus stop in a surprisingly tense silence.

When the bus finally pulled up, Bill got on before him and went to an empty seat in the back. Dipper paid the driver for the both of them and followed him, sitting down in the same seat, far enough so they weren't brushing up against each other, one of his legs in the aisle.

It was still silent between them when the bus began to move again, Dipper gripping the back of the seat in front of them with his free hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and Bill placing his bags in his lap, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his head against the window.

When the bus came to a halt at the next stop, Bill closed his eyes and sighed. Dipper hesitantly looked over at him, and he said, “Sorry I snapped at you back there. I'm just tired." 

Dipper knew him acting like that was due to much more than simply being tired, but he let his body relax and forced his tone to be neutral when he replied. “Me, too.”

“And, in case it helps you feel better at all…” Bill ran his hands up and down his arms, trying to warm himself. His face turned a light shade of pink. “I like it better when you smile, too.”

“Uh… T-thank you.” Dipper felt glad that Bill was blushing just as much as he was. He looked down at the single bag he was holding in the hand that wasn't gripping the seat and nervously grasped the plastic between his fingers, causing it to crinkle loudly.

 _“Whatever.”_ Bill sounded exhausted. “There's no need to make a big deal about it.”

“How about I help you make the cake?” Dipper blurted, desperate to escape the tangible awkwardness. “Maybe I could help you out with-”

Bill snickered. _“Hell_ no. Baking is my job. Stay out of the kitchen or else I'm scooping out your eyes with the mixing spoon."

 _Yikes. Hint taken._ Dipper licked his lips, a nervous tick, and leaned forward in the seat slightly. He tilted his head to one side so he could see past Bill and out the window. Streets and people and signs whizzed by in a dizzying blur, too fast for him to process. “How long until we get to the dorms, anyway?” he asked. Even after living in this town since August, he was still pretty hopeless with certain areas.

“Not too long.” Bill replied offhandedly, his expression virtually unreadable. He folded his arms over the bags rested on his lap and leaned back when he realized Dipper was trying to look out the window, allowing the brunet a better view. “It should take twenty minutes, tops. Don't get your nipples in a twist, kid. It's literally eight in the morning. _But…”_ He reached into one of his bags and pulled out a bundle of carrots. “Do you want one? Besides drinking a lot of coffee, neither of us had anything for breakfast.”

“Sure. Give me one.” Dipper nodded and Bill broke one off the leafy stem and gave it to him. “Are we even allowed to eat these on the bus?” Yet, despite himself, he took a bite from the tip. It was amazing. “I wonder what farm fresh carrots taste like,” he mused.

“Rules are only for lame people who actually care to follow them.” Bill took another carrot off for himself and stowed the rest of the bundle back in the bag. “And farm fresh ones are freaking awesome,” he added on, inhaling as he spoke as if he could smell them. “Same with farm fresh tomatoes. They're gifts from _God.”_

Dipper chuckled. _“Literally.”_

Bill brought his own carrot between his teeth and broke off a large piece of it. He chewed it, swallowed, grinned. “Mmm. These ones are really crunchy. All the better for the cake.”

“How are you supposed to put the carrots in the cake, by the way?”

“You have to grate them.” Bill replied through the carrot in his mouth. Amusement touched the corner of his lips. “What, did you think you just throw the carrots in? Because _that_ would be-”

“No need to get a big head about me asking a simple question.”

Bill laughed. “My head's not _that_ big.”

“I'm not entirely sure about all that.” Dipper picked at the leaves of his carrot. “Your head looks pretty big from here."

Bill made a strange sound deep in his throat. “And everyone I know calls _me_ the jerk.” He tittered. “No wonder the head put you as my roommate. Us smartasses have to stick together, in a world full of idiocy.”

Stifling a smirk of his own, Dipper bit down into his carrot again and lowered his eyes so he wouldn't have to meet Bill's gaze.

 _Us smartasses have to stick together,_ he thought.

* * *

 

Dipper lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his much-too-dark room, his mind clouded with exhaustion. He blinked, his eyes heavy with the need for sleep but refusing to stay shut for more than a few seconds at one time. All he could think to do was listen to the soft sound of Bill's labored breathing and the constant annoying tic of the heater on the other side of the room overworking itself. He let out a deep breath through his nose and glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand.

2:27 a.m.

Something long and slender was thrown atop his stomach, snapping his attention away from the clock and he flinched, but relaxed immediately after when he realized it was only Bill's arm. In fact, he even leaned into it a little, his side brushing against Bill's own stomach. The older male hitched a breath in response to this, fast asleep. Dipper could tell that he was most likely having a bad dream, based on how he kept mumbling incoherently and kicking erratically.

It hadn't fully occurred to Dipper's mind until then that Bill had no shirt on, the dinosaur shirt he wore on most nights discarded on the floor. His face warmed at the mere thought; however, he shook it off after a few seconds and grabbed at the blanket and draping it over the both of them so his roommate could have more warmth. Then, finally, one of his hands went into Bill's blond locks, his fingers lightly beginning to card through them in a soothing gesture. Again, Bill responded to his actions as he slept, his lashes fluttering and his lips parting, his white teeth showing through.

Dipper allowed himself to relax at last, closing his eyes in the hope that he would fall asleep sooner than later. He could still taste carrot cake on his tongue, and forced thoughts of the sweet-tasting memory to let him-

He jolted upright no more than a second later, sure he had heard something, which earned him a grunt from Bill (who was, miraculously, fast asleep even after _that)._ He pursed his lips and listened for the sound again, but all he heard were the sounds he'd been listening to prior. Bill's breathing, the tic of the heater…

But then the foreign sound came again and it occurred to Dipper that it was actually a knock. He looked over at the door. _Hmm._

On one hand, that raised a red flag. Who knocked on a door at two a.m.? But, on the other hand, whoever was knocking could have had something important to say, right?

His mind clouded from having no sleep, he crawled out of bed without waking Bill and headed to the door, then wrapped a hand around the knob and pulled it open.

 _“Pacifica?”_ he asked, squinting. He had no idea if any of this was reality or some sort of twisted dream.

“I...I'm so sorry.” Pacifica Northwest dabbed at her eyes with the tissue she was holding. It was blackened with the mascara that was running down her cheeks, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. “It…It’s just that Wendy isn't in our room today and I don't want to be alone right now, so…” She sniffed, a nasally sound. “Can...can I stay in here tonight, please?”

Dipper hesitated, a million questions running through his mind at once. What was Pacifica doing here? Why was she crying? What was the problem? Most important of all, though, was what would _Bill_ think of him letting her in? He'd be pissed off for sure.

But saying no to her when she was in such a pathetic state was wrong, no matter how his roommate looked at it. Pacifica was his friend and he had to do whatever he could do to help her out. Even if it made his other friend mad. Besides, he would try to work things out in the morning. Bill would _have_ to sympathize at some point.

Right?

His mind made up, Dipper nodded and stepped aside to let her inside the room. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Go to the bed near the window, and be quiet. Bill's sleeping.”

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be pretty bad, and not for the reason I'm pretty sure most of you are thinking. Also, we find out why Bill was MIA on Halloween, so I suppose that's a thing.
> 
> But for real??? I've been putting up with a lot of high school drama/teen angst shit as of late and let me tell you IT SUCKS. I'm being b//ull//ied by some kids who wanna ruin my life, and they're draining me of my aspiration to do much of anything. And that's besides the issues I have going on at home, too, so pwease don't hate me if it takes me forever between updates.
> 
> And that's pretty much it, I think. I hope you have a nice day.^^
> 
> Edit: also I couldn't help but notice how this chapter posted twice and sidjdjdnckd I took the second one down!!! So don't worry about that.


	22. Love is Complex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of the new year and we are off to a...rather bumpy start, actually. Don't let the amount of words fool you; a lot happens in this chapter.
> 
> A huge thanks to DarlingDem, by the way, whose encouragement is responsible for me aspiring to finish up this chapter ASAP. (Literally; I was only, like, 1.2k words into this five days ago.)
> 
> Chapter warnings: implied self harm, mention of abortion

Dipper woke up before Bill, the remnants of the previous night’s poor amount of rest clouding his mind, causing a headache to pound against his skull.

He groaned and rubbed at his temples, begging the universe to make it go away, then instinctively leaned into his roommate for comfort. Sometime during the night, Bill’s face had been buried into his chest, both arms linked tightly around the younger male’s waist.

A sleepy sigh emitted from Bill, one so soft and serene Dipper almost didn’t notice the nudging on his shoulder, coming from behind.

Almost.

“Psst, Dipper. _Dipper._ Hey. _Hey.”_ Upon finally being able to process it, he opened his eyes and gently pulled out of Bill’s cozy embrace, rolling over onto his other side without much of a thought to see who was trying to get his attention.

 _Oh. Right._ Dipper let out a deep, slow breath through his nose as he sat up, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked, voice no higher than a whisper. “Are you doing any better?”

Pacifica blinked once or twice, her eyes lingering on Dipper for a second before moving on to Bill, then at Dipper again, like she was trying to process what she was seeing. But she only shook her head in response, saying, “N-no. Yeah. _Yes.”_ She cleared her throat. “I'm feeling much better. I slept great. Thank you for letting me stay.” She kept her hands clasped in front of herself as she spoke, her tone neutral.

Dipper cast a quick glance at Bill, who had grabbed a pillow and was cuddling it in his place. “Uh, yeah, that's great, but-” He looked back at Pacifica. “I think it would be better of you left now. No offense to you or anything, but you know…”

“It's fine, I totally get it.” Pacifica responded, running her fingers through her hair, which was a knotted mess, a sight Dipper wouldn’t necessarily associate with her. “I just… Would you mind walking me to the door?”

 _Why would she need me to walk her to the door?_ Dipper wondered. _It's right there._ However, he nodded. “No problem.” He swept his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself out, leading her to the room's door and unlocking and opening it for her to leave. As she stepped out, he muttered, “Oh, and hey.” She turned towards him. “You can talk to me about what's wrong if you want. I'll listen.”

 _“No,”_ she said immediately, then hesitated. “I...I mean, no. I don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry.”

What was she apologizing for? “That's okay, Pacifica, really. You don't need to be sorry.” He forced a smile. “Just-”

“Well, I'll be _damned._ Excuse _me.”_ Seemingly out of nowhere, a bandaged hand slammed against the doorframe, causing a separation between Dipper and Pacifica. “I didn't know we had a guest. Pine Tree, did _you_ know we had a guest?”

“Bill, I can explain.” Dipper insisted without thinking, trying to tug on one of his roommate's arms, to no avail. “I-”

Bill ignored him; his glare was fixed solely on Pacifica. “Why are _you_ here? And why do you look so fucking terrible?” He sounded more disgusted and amused rather than actually concerned, though.

Pacifica glared right back. “That's none of your business,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “But, if you _must_ know, Dipper invited me in last night.”

“Last night!” Bill echoed incredulously. “He let you in _last_ _night.”_ Now his angry expression was directed at Dipper. “You let her _stay_ last night?”

 _“Bill-”_ Dipper tugged his arm again.

Bill yanked it away. “You are me are going to have a talk. And _you-”_ He pointed an accusing finger at Pacifica. “-are going to wait over _there_ until I decide what to do with you.”

Dipper wordlessly followed him into the kitchen as asked, suddenly feeling wide awake. Despite the situation he was in, a small portion of him struggled to ignore the fact that his roommate was still shirtless.

He didn’t try to reason with Bill again until they were both inside the kitchen, out of earshot from Pacifica. “Listen, Bill, I-”

“So would you mind explaining to me why you let _her_ in here?” Bill interrupted. “Because I’m _all ears,_ kid.”

“I’ve _been_ trying to explain it to you!” Dipper protested, turning away from Bill so he could reach into one of the cabinets to take out a small bowl. He talked as he took out a box of cereal, as well. “Sometime in the middle of the night last night she knocked on the door. She was _crying,_ Bill. It would have been wrong for me to just leave her there.”

 _“Right._ So what you're telling me is that you let her in here while I was _sleeping,_ knowing very well that I _hate_ her? All so you could, I don't know, feel good about yours- _What are you doing?”_ he screeched as Dipper began to pour milk into the bowl.

Dipper rolled his eyes. “I might as well make Pacifica something for breakfast, taking into consideration you decided to keep her _hostage,”_ he snapped, returning the milk to the fridge and taking a spoon out of one of the lower drawers.

“I am _not_ keeping her hostage.” Bill ran a hand through his already messy hair, making it even messier, and groaned. “In fact, I betcha ten bucks she ran off already,” he said, pushing past Dipper and peeking his head out of the kitchen into the main room.

A second later, he pulled back in. “I'm outta five bucks, then. She's just… sitting there.”

“Of _course_ she's just sitting there.” Dipper retaliated, carefully lifting the bowl from the counter. “That's because she knows that you'll hunt her down if she tries to run away.”

If Bill heard this, he didn't signify it. “So…” He furrowed his brows. “What's wrong with her, anyway?”

“Why does it matter what's wrong with her? She was upset. You of all people should know that everyone have problems.”

“Wait, you mean you don’t know?” Dipper didn’t answer, and Bill clicked his tongue. “Imbecile. if _she's_ going to spend the night in _my_ room-” He returned the exasperated look his roommate gave him with one of his own. “-then there sure as hell had better be a good reason why.”

“You can’t just _force_ her to talk to you about her personal issues!” Dipper protested, his mouth agape. He clutched at the bowl of cereal in his hands.

Bill smirked. “I’m gonna make you eat those words.” He turned, as if he was going to leave, but then quickly spun around to face the younger male again. “Speaking of which…” Snatching the bowl away, he turned it upside down over Dipper’s head- effectively covering him in fruity puffs and sticky milk- before shoving it back at him.

“Sorry,” he quipped. “Force of habit.” And, with that, he walked out.

“H-hey!” Grabbing a roll of paper towels from off the counter and placing the bowl in its spot, Dipper tore a few off and used them to wipe his face as he hurriedly followed Bill into the main room.

When he reached his roommate, he used his right hand (the one that was holding a few milk-soaked paper towels) to grasp the older male’s arm again.

The action went ignored, of course, because Bill’s sights were on Pacifica.

“...what’s your damage, kid?” Bill was saying, voice low. “Don’t you have Corduroy to comfort you? Why did you even need to come here?”

Pacifica stood up, probably in a way to look intimidating, but it wasn’t much help, taking into consideration Bill was almost a full foot taller than her. “My personal life is none of your concern,” she countered easily.

“It really isn’t.” Dipper tried to add in, which earned him a glare from Bill. He pulled his hand away. “Well, it _isn’t.”_

Bill rolled his eyes and turned back to Pacifica. “Well, whatever the fucking reason,” he ground out, “it sure as hell serves you right.” Somehow, he managed enough saliva to spit on her shirt.

Pacifica wiped at the spot, face contorted in disgust. “And why would _that_ be?”

“Hm, let me see..” Bill began to pace a bit, counting on his fingers. _“One,_ you’re a spoiled little princess whose dad put a protective bubble around you to shield you from the world. _Two,_ I hate you. Oh, and three-” His voice rose. “You’re a spoiled little princess whose dad put a protective bubble around you to _shield you from the damn world.”_

Pacifica’s lips twitched, but Dipper didn’t think Bill noticed. “You make it sound like I don’t understand how life works.”

“Because you _don’t.”_ Bill laughed, obviously exasperated. “You don’t know _anything,_ because, while you’re taking baths in your piles upon piles of money and being showered in love and affection, there are people out there _suffering._ Slowly, painfully, wishing they were anything _but this!”_ He clenched his hands into fists, prepared to say more, but he instead dissolved, his shoulders slumping and his hands dropping down to his sides. “You...You don’t know anything.”

Dipper felt the sudden urge to take action, to reach out to Bill, to plant a hand on his shoulder, to hug him, to do _something_ comforting, as what Bill had said was obviously personal. However, he managed to resist, as Pacifica was there, and instead he pressed his lips into a thin line and glared at the carpeted ground, cursing himself for not knowing what to do.

Pacifica was just as quiet as he was, her bright eyes on Bill, scrutinizing him, like she was pondering something. Then she sighed, one hand shooting up to run through her hair.

“Okay,” she said after a long moment, her nose scrunching up. “Really, you know _nothing_ about me. You don't even know why I'm _here,_ so you have _no right_ to-”

“Judge you?” Bill scoffed. “Don't want me to judge you? Then give me a fucking reason not to.”

“Bill…” Dipper licked his lips nervously and looked over at Pacifica. Their gazes locked, and Pacifica's hands flexed into fists for a second before promptly releasing.

She sighed and tore her eyes away from his, attention back on Bill.

“My dad doesn't _protect_ me, he doesn't put a _bubble_ around me.” She whispered this, her voice barely audible. “All he does is lock me away from everyone and everything. He doesn't let me _do_ anything. He doesn't let me _have friends.”_ She took a deep breath. “A-and he's never happy. I try and I try but I...I'm never good enough for him. I'm just a _disappointment_ to him.”

Bill didn't reply, and she shook her head. “That's why I'm here. But never mind. You wouldn't understand.”

Dipper inhaled and glanced at Bill, who had long since quieted and was now staring ahead at nothing in particular, expression unreadable. But then, suddenly, he was reaching down and picking up his shirt, throwing it over his shoulders.

He cleared his throat. “Y-yeah, so… sorry,” he muttered, flattening out the wrinkles. “I’ll go make breakfast. Stay if you want.” Then he walked away before anyone could offer a reaction.

Once he was gone, Pacifica raised both her brows. Her mouth moved silently for a moment, like she was having trouble speaking her words, but then she managed, “What happened to _him?”_ She wiped her eyes as she spoke, getting rid of tears.

“Bill has a shitty dad, too,” mumbled Dipper, running a hand through his milky hair. He glanced back towards the kitchen to make sure Bill wasn’t listening. When he turned back to Pacifica again, he dropped his voice down to a whisper. “I'm not sure I should be the one telling you this, but his dad tried to kill him once.”

Pacifica's eyes widened. “Wait, seriously?”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, don't tell him I told you that.” Another dubious glance towards the kitchen. “I'll go see if he's doing alright. You can leave, if you want.”

“I...I actually think I'll stay for a bit.” Pacifica said, moving to sit down. “You know… so I can clean the cereal out of your hair when you're done talking to him.”

Dipper only nodded a second time and left her to her own devices, heading into the kitchen. Once there, he was immediately greeted with the sound of agonizingly loud crashing. Rushing to Bill, he helped him pick up a few pots that had fallen on the ground.

“Thanks.” Bill cleared his throat as he shoved all the pots into a cabinet, and took out a pan to place on the counter. “Go get me some eggs from the fridge,” he said after a long, quiet moment.

“N-no problem.” Dipper said, baffled, but listened nonetheless. He opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs, placing them on the counter next to his roommate. He tapped his fingers nervously against the surface. “Uh… Are you okay? I know what Pacifica was saying about being a disappointment-”

“How do you like your eggs?” Bill cut in, switching on the stove. He cracked a few eggs on the pan.

“Scrambled.” Dipper replied honestly. “But Bill-”

Bill grunted as he put the pan on the stove. “Scrambled it is, then.” He pulled a spatula out of the nearest drawer and used it to begin scrambling the eggs.

“Bill, can you _please_ just _talk to me_ for _once?”_ It came out sounding a lot more harsh than Dipper meant it to, causing the both of them to fall silent for what felt like an eternity. He clamped both his hands over his mouth to silence himself.

Bill's voice was hoarse when he finally responded. “How's about you mind your own business for once?”

The eggs crackled in the pan, and the older male pulled his attention back to them.

 _Of course._ Dipper should've expected that. But, despite this, he shook his head and tried, “I'm only trying to help.”

Bill sighed and shook his head as well. “I...had no idea her dad was like that,” he muttered. “I mean, I always kinda knew he was a jerk, but yikes.”

“Never mind that right now. What about _you?”_ Dipper asked, and swallowed. “Just… tell me what's wrong, because obviously something _is_ wrong.” He flinched at his own boldness. “Please.”

“What's _your_ dad like?” Bill's gaze didn't quite meet his, and he pressed on before the younger male could even conceive a proper reply. “Is he a nice guy?”

“I… that doesn't matter.” Dipper didn't want to give Bill a reason to feel worse about himself. “What-”

“Your dad's alive, right?”

“Y-yeah? But what-” Dipper choked mid sentence, processing Bill's words. It took him a moment or so, and he watched his roommate take the pan off the stove by the handle and dump the eggs onto a paper plate.

“But...isn't your dad alive?” he asked at last.

Bill snickered. “Nah, not anymore.”

Dipper blinked slowly. He leaned forward on the counter and rested his elbows on the surface, once again stopping to consider the meaning to Bill's words. He eyed the plate of scrambled eggs as he said, “I'm sorry.” He immediately regretted speaking. Was that seriously the best he had? “When did he, uh…”

“About a week before Halloween, I think. Eat your eggs.” Bill pushed the plate closer to Dipper, then moved to switch off the stove and put the pan in the sink. “I'll walk Pacifica back to her room. I have to head out for a party later today, anyway.”

 _About a week before Halloween? Wait…_ Dipper pushed the plate back towards Bill. He didn't think he was hungry anymore. “Does your...does your dad dying have something to do with why you went missing on Halloween?” He felt like he knew the answer to that already, though.

“No, of course not. I'm freaking _glad_ he's dead.” As Bill spoke, he clutched the edge of the counter, squeezing so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I don't even care that he's dead,” he whispered after a while, sounding more like he was trying to reassure himself. But then he cleared his throat and said, louder, “He had a heart attack while he was driving.”

“Bill…” Dipper moved to place one of his hands atop his roommate's, but the blond pulled away before the action could be completed. “That...sorry,” he repeated, lamely.

“Whatever. If I had wanted your opinion I would have asked for it.” Bill pushed the plate of eggs towards Dipper again. “Eat it or else I'm going to give it to Pacifica. It's getting cold sitting here." 

“Fine, give it to her. I'm feeling kinda queasy, anyway.” At least that much was true.

 _“Fine,”_ countered Bill, grabbing the plate and balancing it in his bandaged hand as he took a plastic fork from a container a little bit away from him. “Your loss.” He stopped around the younger male, moving to leave, but stopped steps away from the enterence to the main room.

When he spoke up, his voice was filled with venom. “By the way, kid…” A sort of laugh escaped him. “Until you know what it's like to have both your parents drop dead and get stuck with a baby you're not even sure you want because you don't have the kind of money to pay child support, then you have no right to act like you understand how _I_ feel.”

“Don't do anything stupid when you're walking Pacifica back to her room,” was all Dipper managed to say in reply, biting his lower lip and hanging his head low until he heard the pad of Bill's footsteps retreating.

After Bill left the room with Pacifica, about fifteen minutes later, he decided he'd better put a load in the wash, considering neither he nor Bill had done it in a while. In the bathroom, he was just finished taking out what clothes were in the washing machine to separate the whites and colors when something caught his eye.

Reaching inside the washing machine, he felt his fingers close around cold glass, and when he pulled his hand out he was met with a bottle of white wine.

 _What the heck is this doing here?_ As Dipper examined the item in his hand, he noticed there wasn't a lot of wine left in the bottle itself, but he could guess that it had probably been there a while. _Who hides alcohol in a washing machine?_ Not only was it unorthodox, but it completely went against the deal he'd made with Bill...all those months ago…

Muttering profanities under his breath, Dipper got to his feet and kicked the door to the washing machine shut. He walked over to the sink and popped open the cork to the bottle, ready to dump the rest of the liquid out when he heard a knock on the door.

“Yeah, coming,” he called and, still clutching the wine in one of his hands, ran out into the main room so he could answer the front door. A part of him hoped it was Bill, despite knowing his roommate said he'd be going to a party. They _really_ needed to talk.

“Oh, uh, hi Dipper. Is Bill in?” Pyronica looked over Dipper carefully, then tilted her head to one side so she could look past him and into the room. “There's something, like, mega important I need to talk to him about.”

Dipper shook his head. “Sorry, he just left a few minutes ago. Won't be back until tonight, but I can take a message if you want.”

Pyronica's eyes flashed. She looked downright _exhausted,_ and her hair was a mess, in more ways than one. To Dipper's surprise, it wasn't the bright pink he was used to seeing, instead a strawberry blonde, and it was shoulder length and uneven, like she had hacked it herself.

Subconsciously, Dipper's eyes trailed down to her stomach, which was swollen, but not too much. She definitely wasn't _that_ far in.

“No, that’s fine,” the senior said, and Dipper snapped his gaze up, cheeks burning, almost forgetting what he'd said to warrant that response from her in the first place. “This is something I have to tell him face-to-face.”

It was awkwardly quiet for a while, which prompted Dipper to ask, “Are you feeling alright? You look a little…” He trailed off, whatever words dying on his tongue. What could he say that wouldn't sound rude?

“Like a mess?” Pyronica guessed, laughing. Dipper hesitated. “No, no, no, it's fine. You're right. It's a...It's a really long story. Maybe I'll tell you sometime.” She ran one of her hands through her uneven hair. “I just… the morning sickness, you know.” She sighed. “Do you mind if I come in for a moment? I'm probably gonna vomit again.”

Dipper stepped aside and allowed her inside without further question, then closed the door behind her with his free hand and followed her to the bathroom. When she turned back towards him with a confused glance, he explained, “The medicine's in the bathroom, so I might as well give you some.”

Pyronica was quick to drop down on her knees in front of the toilet, whilst Dipper tried his best to ignore her as he dug through the medicine cabinet for ibuprofen. He heard her belch and cringed, his grip tightening on the wine bottle he didn't even realize he'd still been holding. Putting the wine aside, he poured some of the pink medicine into the cap and walked over to Pyronica, leaning down a little so he could pat her back.

“Thanks.” Pyronica mumbled, lifting her face out of the toilet and wiping off some of the sweat on her brow. She chuckled uncertainly. “I'm not sure how much longer I can put up with this.”

Dipper handed her the medicine without stopping his administrations. “Do you know if the baby's a boy or a girl yet?” he asked, desperate to start a conversation.

Pyronica kept her eyes away from his as she downed the medicine. “I told the doctor not to tell me,” she said, reaching over to flush down her vomit. “I mean… but that's because I've been thinking about terminating the pregnancy.”

“What? Why?” Dipper was flabbergasted. “But… what about Bill…?”

“I know he wants the baby.” Pyronica handed Dipper back the cap to the medicine, and he removed his hand so he could put it on the bottle. Her gaze trailed over to the wine bottle sitting on the side of the sink.

She almost looked why she wanted to question why it was there, but instead she continued, “I want the baby, too… but I don't know. When I first found out I was pregnant, the thought of becoming a parent sounded great, but now that I think about it, I'm not sure I can do it.” The guilt in her eyes wasn't hard to see. “I don't eat to quit the cheer team. And I'm not ready for that kind of thing yet. But this is all my fault. I gave William too much hope.”

“You should probably wait a bit before you tell him about that.” Dipper said honestly. “He hasn't been in the best mood lately.”

Pyronica got to her feet, slowly, and offered him a weak smile. She gestured to the wine bottle. “You should probably check the rest of the room,” she suggested. “Chances are there are more of those lying around." 

“Are you sure you're going to be fine walking to your room on your own?” Dipper asked when they returned to the main room. “I could just give the rest of the medicine in case.”

“No, thanks. I'll be fine. And, besides, that shit tasted terrible, anyway.” Pyronica leaned one of her arms against the wall to steady herself as she caught her breath. “I managed to walk here on my own, didn't I?”

When she regained herself, she waved at him and removed her arm from the door so she could leave. “I'll see you around, kid.”

“Yeah.” Dipper replied, returning her wave with one of his own. He looked down at the wine bottle (he'd taken it off the sink when they'd left the bathroom), reconsidering what Bill had told him earlier, then what Pyronica had told him just now. “...Yeah.”

He dumped the wine down the kitchen drain and dumped the bottle in the trash with disgust coloring his face. After that, he sat down on the kitchen floor and took his phone out from his pocket. In desperation, he searched through his contacts until he found Bill's name.

Hitting the call button and pressing the phone to his ear, Dipper impatiently listened to the ringing and tapped his fingers against one knee. It went to voicemail, and he tried two more times and gave up at last. As a final resort, he shot Bill a quick text before getting up and heading into the main room to see if there was any more alcohol hidden in Bill's dresser.

He opened the first drawer and dug through the clothes there for a moment or so. Then something sharp pricked one of his fingers and he was pulling away with a yelp.

Reluctantly, he reached back in the drawer, making sure not to hurt himself again with _whatever that was._ He had to backtrack when his hands clasped around the hilt of the item and pulled it out, only to see it was a knife.

His heart reeled when his mind was able to process what the purpose of the knife was, and he took slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

He and Bill _really_ needed to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said that this chapter would state _why_ Bill was missing on Halloween, not _what he was doing_ on Halloween. Nah, we'll get into that shit another time.
> 
> lmao I have state testing and midterms all week and I should've studied but I wrote this instead. But it's fine, I think, because I've been studying for weEKS now and this is kinda just me distracting myself from sTRESS. I'm not going online again or even starting next chapter until at least Friday evening when I'm done posting this, so wish me luck I guess. xD
> 
> P.S. I read over this WHOLE fic and fixed all the mistakes I could find, so now that's off my conscious forever. yOU'RE WELCOME. (lmao I'll edit this chapter when I'm done with all my school shit.)


	23. Love is Fragile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! An update in only twelve days? (Michael Carbonaro isn't the only one that can do magic.)
> 
> And _how_ did I manage to get this chapter written so fast, you may ask. Well, let's just keep some things unsaid. ~~But the fact that I managed to write this so fast really _is_ magical, you have to give me that.~~
> 
> Anyway, you know how everybody has that, like, one thing that inspires their entire fic? For me, this fic was built upon the single, solid idea of Dipper helping Bill with an alcohol problem. And THIS. This is the chapter I've been waiting 11 months for, holy _s hit._
> 
> I hope you enjoy. :D
> 
> Chapter warnings: alcoholism, scars sustained from past self-harm, instances to past drug use, mention of a past suicide attempt, heavy suicidal dialogue

The last thing Dipper would’ve expected to interrupt him during his research was a loud ding; and not just a regular ding, but the familiar chime of his phone when he received a text. It was unusual, considering the only person he really texted anymore was Mabel, and he knew it couldn’t have been her, considering she’d told him earlier that she would be too busy studying for an exam that day to talk to him.

But it didn’t bother him, because, honestly, the said research he was doing wasn’t even for any of his classes, though he knew that’s what he should have been working on.

No, the research he was doing was for a topic not relating to any of what he was learning—or, really, anything that he understood. In fact, this topic was one that he, personally, wanted—no, needed— to understand, for the benefit of a certain someone he knew, a certain someone he wanted to help.

It was something he was learning for Bill’s sake.

His little project, as he liked to call it, had started out small, built upon a single word; _grief_. Which, after a bit, turned into coping with loss and helping those who had suffered loss. Then, reconsidering the bathtub incident and the knife he had found in Bill’s drawer, he moved onto heavier topics such as suicide and depression. This resulted in a plethora of books being checked out of the library and multi-colored post-it notes littered around his work space (green for facts, blue for questions, and yellow for random thoughts), and soon Dipper found himself with almost a full notebook of research.

There was something off about all this research, though, and it was odd—having all this information made him feel as if he was getting closer to understanding his enigmatic roommate, but also not.

_I just need to start applying all this to the real world, I guess._

And, the problem was, he had no idea how he was supposed to do that. Because Bill was _stubborn_ and _impossible—_ but Dipper knew he had a right to be, in a sense.

Actually _communicating_ with Bill was going to be difficult, to say the least, and that was a definite. Not only that, but it didn't exactly help that Dipper himself wasn't really tactful—he was more of a scientific kind of guy, calculating, all about the straight facts. Mabel had always been better with the “feelings” thing; but he supposed he was going to have to try his best and be there for Bill, anyway, because _that's what friends were for._

He'd been chewing on his lucky pen and pondering on how he was going to approach Bill when the ding had sounded on his phone, and he picked it up to read the text.

And it was because of said text that, not fifteen minutes later, Dipper found himself standing in front of an unfamiliar building— Petunia's Pub, a club and bar located on East Fifth Street. It would have been an understatement to say he was frustrated, but he took a deep breath anyway and pushed on inside.

The interior was no better than the exterior (in fact it was much worse), smelling like sweat, alcohol, and, oddly enough, a piercing mixture of different types of perfume and cologne. Drunks were on the dance floor grinding against one another, drunks were at the bar ordering drinks, drunks were being drunks… And it was a bit much for Dipper, who'd never had a drop of alcohol in his life.

This was Bill's place, all right.

Dipper resisted the sudden urge to simply up and leave, instead pushing forward and ignoring his logical side, probably for the first time ever.

Pyronica was sitting at the bar like she'd told him she would be, leaning her face in one hand. She looked exceptionally exhausted.

She lifted her head when Dipper sat down in the stool next to her, adjusting his scarf to hide the lower half of his face.

“So, what about Bill being here?” he asked her through the fabric, looking around a little for his roommate.

Pyronica sighed. Yep, she _definitely_ looked tired, as much as she had a few days before when she'd first told Dipper about the plans for her pregnancy. “I'm sorry for bothering you at this hour. It's just that I told Bill about the abortion this morning and—” She began to look around, as well. “—he’s over there.”

Dipper turned his head in the direction she pointed and, sure enough, there was Bill, chatting away with a black-haired girl—albeit, one who was most likely older than he was—laughing and grinning and flirting and acting like he was perfectly fine.

But Dipper knew he wasn't, not really.

“And I should give you this.” Dipper swiveled back towards Pyronica, who was digging through her purse. A second later, she pulled out a twenty. “Here. This makes up for the cab fare to get back, too, right?”

“You don't really have to—”

“Take the damn money, Dipper.”

Dipper took the money. “Alright,” he said. “You can, like, go back to whatever you were doing before, I guess.” He sighed. “I'll take over from here.”

Pyronica slung her purse over her shoulder and smiled appreciatively. “If it isn't too much, that would be great. I scheduled the abortion for tomorrow and both me and William need a good night's rest for that.” Then she moved to get out of her stool. “Sorry again for bothering you at such an hour, Dipper.”

“It's fine.” Dipper assured her. “I was planning to talk to him, anyway.” He smiled back and, when she was gone, groaned and let out a breath through his nose.

“Do you need something?” someone asked, and Dipper started, only to see that it was the bartender.

“Uh, no thanks, I…” He trailed off, then reconsidered his words. “Actually, could you call a cab for my friend?” he asked, and gestured to where he'd seen Bill.

The bartender nodded sympathetically. “Sure,” she said, and turned to help another patron.

Dipper watched her for a second before getting to his feet so he could drag Bill home.

“Oh, God,” he whispered once he got to his roommate.

On the list of things Dipper wished he could unsee, witnessing Bill swap saliva with some strange girl had to be on top, if not number one.

 _Ugh._ Bile in his throat, Dipper walked up to them. One of his hands roughly fell upon Bill's shoulder.

Bill pulled away first, blinking, like he'd just been woken from a trance. He used the hand that was holding his drink to wipe the string of saliva still between him and the girl. Then his gaze fell on Dipper. “Oh, it's _you.”_

“Let's go.” Dipper tried to keep his voice even, but the words came out with a surprising amount of venom.

Bill only rolled his eyes in obvious irritation, and the girl looked equally as annoyed. She batted her lashes at Dipper. “Excuse me, who are you?” she asked.

“My roommate.” Bill grumbled. He didn't make a move to leave, the arm he had around the girl's waist tightening, and she giggled.

Dipper resisted the sudden urge to gag, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Come _on,_ Bill. You have an exam in the morning. You don't need to be here—” He stopped there, but mentally added on, _Making out with complete strangers._

“Do you always have to be such a buzzkill?” Bill blew a raspberry. Dipper stood firm, however, and he relented. _“Fine._ I'll _go.”_ He leaned over to place his drink on the nearest table, all while his other arm fell from the girl's waist. He grinned at her. “See ya around, babe,” he said lowly, then walked off, glaring at Dipper as he passed.

“I hope you have a nice night.” Dipper told the girl, his tone sour, and he followed Bill out the door.

Once outside, he inhaled deeply, glad to have some fresh air at last. Then he walked up to his now-pissed roommate, who was turned away from him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don't have an exam in the morning.” Bill said, finally, breaking the silence. He swiveled around to face Dipper. “Dude, didn't you see that I was _this—”_ He pinched his forefinger and thumb together, as if to indicate a miniscule amount. “—close to getting laid?”

“With someone who's ten years older than you.” Dipper pointed out. “Does she even know you're still in college?”

“That doesn't matter.” Bill rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I have to witness baby murder tomorrow and you're telling me I should sleep with someone _my age?”_

“It's an _abortion,_ not some brutal murder, and that's Pyronica's decision to make.” Dipper furrowed his brows. “And she feels bad about it, too, you know.”

“Whatever. I don't want to talk about this right now.” Which was Bill's own special way of saying he didn't want to talk about it _ever._ He tugged up the zipper to his hoodie to better shield himself from the cold. “What are we even doing out here?”

“We're waiting for a cab. It should be here in a few minutes.” Dipper replied. He sniffed, not noticing the smell of alcohol on Bill until just then, and he vaguely wondered how much Bill had to drink. “So, uh…” He hesitated.

Bill raised one of his brows. “So _what?”_

Dipper wasn't sure of what to say. He swallowed, trying to find his words. _I keep finding your stupid adult drinks around the room,_ was what he wanted to start out with, but didn't. _Damn it._

“Nothing,” he muttered at last, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Whatever.” Bill returned, his foot beginning to tap impatiently on the ground.

They fell into the usual quiet, and Dipper cursed himself for being so damn _awkward,_ shooting a quick glance at Bill before glaring down at his feet. He licked his lips uncertainly, managing, “Is this the bar you usually go to?”

“Yes.”

Good. So now Dipper knew where to look in case Bill ever went missing again.

 _I really should say something about the knife._ But, before he could utter a single word, Bill spoke.

“I'm gonna need to take some of your medicine when we get back to our room.” Dipper was about to ask why, but was once again interrupted when Bill placed his hands on his knees and leaned down slightly. “Gon’ throw up.” And, as if on cue, he did, spitting up his insides right there on the sidewalk.

Dipper cringed and took a few large steps away despite there being a great amount of distance between them already. “Can't hold your liquor, huh,” he commented, running a hand through his hair. Reluctantly, he stepped up to his roommate and began to pat his back, making sure to avoid the puddle of vomit on the ground.

“Tequila shots.” Bill corrected, wiping his mouth.

Dipper laughed, his hands subconsciously moving to Bill's shoulders as he helped him stand. “Same thing.”

“No.” Bill replied, golden gaze lifting to meet Dipper's. “Definitely not the same thing.” He frowned and tilted his head to one side.

Dipper swallowed, not sure how he felt about Bill looking at him like that. “W-what?” he asked.

Bill smirked, showing off his pearly whites. “You look like you've been thinking a lot today, bud. Everything alright up there?”

“W-well, yeah, just…” Dipper gazed out at the street to avoid his eyes, hands falling away from his roommate's shoulders. “Cab's here,” he said. _Oh, thank goodness._

The cab ride back to the dorms was surprisingly silent, Dipper staring down at the ground and Bill leaning his head against the window, watching the streets and cars as they flew by. Dipper would occasionally glance at him before swiftly averting his eyes, not wanting to get caught. And, despite his best efforts, he couldn't help but appreciate Bill's freckles, like stars scattered across his face. But then he blushed, shaking the thought away.

When they got back to their room, Dipper fished his keys out of one of his coat pockets and used them to unlock the door. He held it open for Bill, who drunkenly wobbled in.

“I'm so glad today's finally over,” he muttered to himself, checking his wrist watch. A little bit past eleven P.M. He slammed the door shut.

“I'd say the same, but I never got to have sex, so…” Bill switched on the room's light. He blinked rapidly for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the sudden disappearance of darkness. “Go get me some of that medicine, kid.”

“Yeah, sure, no prob.” Dipper headed to the bathroom, then came out a few seconds later holding a small bottle of medicine, the same ibuprofen he gave to Pyronica the other day. He handed the bottle to Bill, who opened it and, shockingly enough, actually poured some of the medicine into the cap instead of just downing it.

Dipper took the bottle back when he was done, smiling. “Glad to see that you're taking my advice for once.”

“Ha! Yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Bill snorted. “Ibuprofen is disgusting. I'd like to stay away from that as much as I can.”

Putting the bottle on the nightstand, Dipper shrugged. “I suppose that's understandable. I'm not a big fan of it either, but medicine's medicine.”

“Would it kill them to make it taste even _slightly_ better, though? Those damn scientist dudes with their damn bad taste.” Bill cradled his arms behind his head. “If _I_ was a guy that made medicine—” He cut himself off. “Hold on, your collar.”

He lowered his arms from behind his head and took a step forward so he was directly in front of Dipper, then reached out and began to adjust the collar on Dipper's shirt, which was sticking out through the winter coat. His expression was unreadable as he did so, and Dipper watched his eyes for a few seconds, waiting for some type of emotion there. He felt somewhat disappointed when he didn't get one.

“Aaaand there you go,” Bill announced, “though I supposed it doesn't really matter now, considering you're going to change into your pajamas in a few minutes. But that shit was bothering me.”

“Okay?”

Bill cleared his throat. _“Anyway.”_ A grin spread across his lips.

“Anyway what?” Dipper bit down on his lower lip, feeling uncomfortable all over again. He didn't think he liked how close Bill was standing. “You're kind of in my personal space. But, like, a little.”

Bill was staring at him again, like he had done outside the pub, and this time his eyes were filled with an emotion Dipper couldn't recognize.

Their foreheads pressed together, and Bill sighed, like he was letting off steam. And, for some reason, it almost seemed like he wanted to say something. Dipper wished he knew what that _something_ was.

But then he was pulling away a second later, walking off to the opposite end of the room. “I have no idea what I'm doing anymore.”

“Honestly, neither do I.” Diper agreed—though it was mostly to himself, as Bill had gone into the bathroom.

Shedding his coat and placing it aside, he sat down on the side of the bed so he could begin to pull his socks and shoes off. He'd been changed into his pajamas and was doing some last-minute research for his “special project” when Bill came out the bathroom; and, in a haste, Dipper shoved all in his books and notes into the top drawer of his bedside dresser.

Bill must have noticed the action, because he snickered as he sat down on the bed next to him. “Nerd,” he whispered, and Dipper was inwardly relieved that he didn't get the wrong idea.

“Uh, yeah, just some...studying.” Which was one way of wording it. Dipper rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Not something that you do a lot of,” he joked.

“I know I should be offended right now, but eh, you're not wrong.” Bill laughed and rolled over so he could lie on his stomach, one of his arms resting underneath his chin. Then he asked the question that Dipper was dreading. “What are you studying for, though? Some exciting stuff?”

“It's...It sure is something, all right.” Dipper brought his knees to his chest. “Maybe I'll tell you about it later,” he said. _Hopefully sooner than later._

“Alright-y then, weirdo.” Bill practically buried his face into the pillow on his side of the bed, his arm along with that muffling his words as he added, “I don't see why it would matter.”

 _Trust me, it does._ Dipper hugged his knees tighter, a frown tugging on one corner of his lips. “Uh, good luck tomorrow, by the way. You know, with the abortion.”

Bill shifted slightly to face the younger male, frowning as well. “Thank you.”

Would this be considered progress? Bill didn't seem to be deflecting the conversation, at least. Dipper tried, “Do you...Are you sure you don't wanna talk about it?”

Although he couldn't see Bill's mouth due to the arm covering it, he could see the smile in Bill's eyes. “I'm sure. Thanks, though.” And he was silent for a moment more before he added, “You're a good kid.”

Dipper smiled back. The little bit of progress was good enough for now, he decided. “Here to help.” He reached for the lamp so he could turn out the light, but stopped when he heard Bill mutter something that he couldn't quite hear. “What was that?”

Bill's eyes met his full-on when he asked, “Do you think I would've made a good dad?”

Dipper didn't hesitate with his response. “You would've made a _great_ dad, Bill. Way better than your dad ever was.”

“I really appreciate that, but no. I doubt it.” Dipper could've sworn he saw a tear roll down Bill's cheek and onto the pillow. “You can turn out the light now.”

 _Well, I tried._ Dipper thought, as he did.

It sure looked like there was a lot more to his project than simply getting the information.

* * *

 

_“I'm sorry.”_

Bill bolted awake with a start, his chest heaving and sweat pooling on his forehead. His elbows dug into the mattress as he worked to keep himself upright, and he rolled his head back, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to calm his racing heart.

“Are you alright?” came a sleepy voice, and Bill jumped, only to calm down a second later when he realized it was just Dipper.

“Oh? Yeah, m'fine,” he managed between heavy breaths. “N-nightmare.” Another one. _Another one._ Dipper didn't respond to that and he collapsed, his face sinking into the pillow. _Another one._

He was glad that Dipper didn't question him further, and when he looked over at him, he saw that the brunet was fast asleep again. Not surprising, really, seeing as it was sometime in the _middle of the freaking night._

Bill didn't make a move until he managed to finally calm himself down, his breathing even and his heart beating at a sustainable pace. Slowly, carefully, he slid out of the bed and headed across the room, pulling open the top drawer to his dresser. He began to dig through its contents.

_Where the hell are you? Come on, come on…_

_What the fuck?_ Was it even _possible_ for an entire knife to go missing?

No, no. He probably just misplaced it. Bill shook his head. _But,_ then again… He glanced at Dipper, who was still sleeping peacefully on the other side of the room.

_Wait._

Slamming the drawer shut angrily, Bill bent down a little so he could open the second one. _If he took my knife, fine. But if my wine isn't here I swear to the sweet Lord above…_

He slammed this drawer shut as well, then he leaned down some more so he could check the third one. Then the fourth one. Both with no success. _That little piece of shit._

Swift on his feet, he hurried into the bathroom, rushing over to the washing machine and reaching one arm inside. _Admittedly, this isn't the best hiding spot._ Which was why he wasn't surprised when the drink he'd hidden there was gone too. But, still, it was frustrating, so he grunted.

None of the other drinks he'd hidden in the bathroom were in their usual spots, either (including the one he'd hidden craftily behind the bathtub), and he went into the kitchen next, digging through some of the higher cabinets with the snacks and food ingredients. Here, he was also met with nothing.

“Shit!” he said aloud, without really meaning to. “For fuck's sake, man!”

Getting down onto his knees, he opened the bottom cabinet, the one with all the pots and pans, sticking his arm in and reaching all the way towards the back. At last, at _fucking last,_ his fingers closed around something glass and familiar, and he pulled out the bottle. The one bottle that his nosy little roommate hadn't taken yet.

It was almost completely filled with whiskey; and, even though it was all he had left, he figured it would be able to help him make it, at least for now.

He closed the cabinet and sat down on the ground, popping it open and beginning to down it. A third of the way through, he stopped to breathe before bringing it back to his lips almost immediately after.

He wasn't sure anything had tasted so amazing.

* * *

 

Dipper was awoken by the sound of slamming and, when he opened his eyes, there was an empty spot in the bed next to him. He blinked, trying his best to take in the messed-up sheets, the dark tear stains on Bill's pillow, and the fact that there was an entire human being missing in action.

His sleepy mind wondered where Bill was—and, begrudgingly, if he had gone back to Petunia's Pub to make out with the stupid chick again—but was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of more slamming, followed by the use of a couple profanities.

Never mind. He bit down on his bottom lip and kneaded it between his teeth nervously when a realization hit him; Bill had found out about him taking his drinks. _I should've just told him when I had the chance._

And, as if the universe was trying to find a way to make him feel worse, there was even more slamming, this time from the kitchen, followed by a string of more curses. Dipper cringed, tempted to hide under the covers, mentally prepared for the worst.

Bill was going to _kill_ him. Then, when he was dead, Bill was going to kill him again.

But that didn't happen. There was no angry Bill storming out of the kitchen, no hands wrapping around his throat and throttling him, no yelling and screaming, no more slamming, nothing. Instead there was silence, a rather concerning amount of silence. A thick, painful, suspenseful silence, like the kind of silence in that moment of a horror movie before the innocent character got killed by the axe murderer.

Dipper took a deep breath.

 _Oh God, what did he do?_ Getting to his feet, Dipper stood at the side of the bed for a moment or so more, still waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he took another breath and gathered all the courage he could muster. Slowly, he began to walk towards the kitchen.

“Bill?” he stage-whispered, sticking his head inside the kitchen. “Are you doing alright in— _Oh.”_

Bill turned his head up towards him, his eyes glittering with rage. He was sitting pretzel-style on the floor, an almost-empty bottle of whiskey held tightly in one hand. He lowered it to rest between his legs and glared down at it, like he wanted to say something but thought better to stay quiet. His lips twitched.

“Bill…” Dipper stepped into the kitchen, trying to use his words carefully. “Where did you get that?” He _had_ meant to sound calm as he spoke, but he sounded more shaky than anything.

Bill grumbled something.

“What?”

“I said it was the only one you didn't _steal,_ you fucking brat.”

“I didn't ste—” Dipper sighed. “Okay, I _did,_ but it was so I could get rid of them. Because what about our deal? Whatever happened to that, huh?”

Bill's nose scrunched up. “You wouldn't understand,” he said, like a teenager would say to their parents as some type of stupid excuse. “It's complicated.”

“What's so complicated? Huh, Bill? _What_ wouldn't I understand?” Dipper began to raise his voice. What's so complicated that you would go against our deal, even though you said it would be no problem? And I'm not just talking about today, either! What about the _other_ time you broke our deal, but I let you off scot-free? What about th—” He halted mid sentence, but was fast to pick himself back up. “What about the day you tried to _kill_ yourself?”

“I was _not_ trying to kill myself!” Bill snapped back equally as loud, his grip tightening on the bottle of whiskey. “Stop _saying_ that!”

“Then what _were_ you doing in that bathtub, Bill? Please tell me, because I'd _really_ like to know!”

Bill grunted and ran his free hand through his hair, making the semi-dry locks even messier than they were beforehand. His face was contorted in rage. “That's none of your damn business.”

“So I'm right!” Dipper began to pace around a bit, rubbing his face. “Oh my God, I was hoping I wasn't right, but I _am!”_

Bill visibly bristled, his eyes narrowing into slits. Then, as if to calm himself, he sighed, his fingers flexing. “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. “Fucking _whatever.”_

Dipper stopped in his tracks to glare at him. “So you're _admitting_ I'm right?”

“Well, honestly, if I _had_ died in the tub that day, I wouldn't have to put up with people like _you_ anymore, who are nothing but _thorns_ up my _ass.”_

Silence. Dead freaking silence. Dipper paused, his mouth hung open slightly, full of words that didn't seem to want to come out. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and, for a moment, all he could do was stare at Bill, his expression somewhere between hysterics and shock.

Then, finally, he found his words, his hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, fine. Okay,” he said. “I see how it is.” He averted his eyes, finding a tile on the floor he could look at instead. “I get it now. I mean absolutely _nothing_ to you.”

Bill sensed his shift in mood, because he reasoned, “That's not what I meant. Dipper. _Dipper.”_ But he ignored the older male, shaking his head. _“Dipper._ Fucking yeesh.”

“I'm only trying to help you, you know.” Dipper spoke at last. “But I can't because you're always so _impossible.”_ He crossed his arms over his chest. “How long are you going to keep shutting me out?”

“Huh, I don't know.” Bill rubbed his nose and pretended to consider his response. “How about until you finally take the _damn hint_ and leave me the _hell alone.”_ A growl reverberated deep in his throat before he continued, “My personal life is none of your—”

“None of my damn business.” Dipper interrupted, rolling his eyes. “I know, I know, I _know._ You might have told me that once or twice or a couple hundred _thousand times.”_ At his last few words, he eyed the bottle Bill was _still_ holding, was holding onto like it was his lifeline. And it was more than a little infuriating, because that bottle was nothing more than a reminder of the deal Bill had _willingly_ broken. Not once, but _twice._

And Dipper wanted to know _why—_ why Bill would _do_ things like this instead of _talking_ to him, because it was _insulting_ and it was _painful_.

 _Is there something wrong with me? Am I not trustworthy? Did I do something to make him hate me?_ Dipper wasn’t sure he did.

So _what was it._

In a bout of frustration, and without thinking about the consequences, Dipper marched up to Bill. Then, leaning down so he was at the blond’s level, made a sudden grab at the whiskey, trying to pry it away from him. Of course, Bill protested to this almost instantaneously, pulling back with just as much force, shouting and screaming profanities, his eyes red from crying and tired and _desperate._

“Let _go,_ Bill!” Dipper shouted back at him, digging his feet into the ground to hold himself in place. “You’re not even supposed to have this in the first place!”

“No! _You_ let go!” The scene was almost laughable, like two children fighting over a toy, and Bill grunted, but his grip must have slipped; Dipper managed to tug the bottle up towards himself, but the sudden action caused it to hit him right in the eye.

He recoiled immediately, releasing the whiskey and slapping one of his hands over the eye that had been hit. “Ow!” He sucked his teeth, taking deep breaths as he waited for the rattling in his skull to subside. “Alright, I get the message. Keep it, I don’t care.” Rubbing his palm into his eye, he stifled a pained cry.

Bill was quick to get to his feet, the whiskey he’d successfully won still in his grasp. _“Shit._ Pine Tree, I—Sorry,” he said at last, lamely. He took a step towards the younger male, who responded by moving away from him.

“Don’t call me that!” Dipper cried, glaring at the whiskey with his good eye. “Keep it! Just _keep it,”_ he said, when Bill looked like he was going to make another move.

“No. No, _no.”_ Bill said this over and over, sounding less and less hostile the more times the word was repeated. He turned to place the whiskey down on the counter, then walked back towards Dipper. “I’m sorry,” he insisted when the brunet made more space between them again. “I didn’t...I didn’t mean to hurt you. Sorry.”

“Well, too late! You already did!” Dipper replied, his voice barely louder than a whisper, and his frown only deepened when Bill visibly cringed, one hand clasped over his mouth.

“You're talking about more that just now, aren't you?” he asked through his hand, his eyes glistening as they filled with more tears that didn't seem to want to be released. He took a few deep breaths. “Sorry,” he repeated, removing his hand from over his mouth. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he whispered, over and over.

It was unfamiliar, odd, how Bill sounded _genuinely_ sorry. Was he being serious right now? But Dipper ignored the thought and took his own hand off his eye, leaving it be. “I...It's just that… you're always doing this stupid _shit.”_ His eyes was stinging a bit, and he tried to blink the pain away, but it didn't do much. “And you… How do you think it makes _me_ feel?”

Bill lowered his gaze. “Probably… not so good. Probably pretty shitty,” he guessed weakly, beginning to scratch at one of his arms through the sleeve of his shirt. Dipper subconsciously watched the action and, not for the first time, wondered how many scars were hiding underneath that sleeve, and how he'd been too dumb to notice any of them.

“Stop that,” he said at last.

Bill stopped. “Stop what?”

 _"That.”_ Dipper said, and nodded, satisfied. “You could reopen the cuts like that and it could get an infection.”

“Your eye is pretty fucked up,” his roommate said after a moment, obviously trying to change the topic of the conversation, but Dipper took the bait despite himself.

“What? Really? How bad is it? Let me see.” Dipper covered up his eye again. “Do you have a mirror or anything?”

“Wait, hold on.” Bill turned and began to dig through a few of the drawers, carelessly pushing things aside and causing them to crash together with loud bangs. After a few minutes of searching, though, he pulled out something and slammed the drawer shut. He shoved the item in Dipper's free hand, which was when the brunet realized it was a small compact with a mirror inside.

Dipper twisted open the compact and looked at himself in the mirror. Since it was dark, he had a bit of a hard time seeing his reflection there, but he could at least tell his eye was definitely bruised, probably a purplish-blue color. Thinking about it made his skull throb all over again, and he pressed his forefinger in a spot just below his eye, where it hurt the most. He cringed.

“Crap,” he whispered. He closed the compact and looked, then started, but calmed himself. When had Bill come so close? Was he even that close to begin with? It was 3 A.M. and Dipper didn't even _know_ anymore.

Bill took the compact wordlessly and stowed it away in his shirt pocket. “Does it hurt?” he asked, after a painful moment of silence. His voice was soft, like he wasn't sure whether he should have been asking in the first place. “I'm sorry,” he whispered for the umpteenth time.

“Forget it. I forgive you. It's fine.” Dipper said this a little too quickly, and he was certain that he didn't mean his words; at least, not completely, anyway. There were some things he wasn't sure he was ever going to forgive Bill for.

He felt his heart clench. “It doesn't hurt that much anymore,” he said honestly, to balance out the lie with a bit of truth.

Bill glanced over at the whiskey—which Dipper had almost completely forgotten about, until now—some kind of longing in his golden eyes.

“What about _that?”_ Dipper asked, bitterly. “Is your precious alcohol doing alright?” _Since you seem to care about your drinks more than you care about me._

“What?” Bill looked back at him. “Of course not. Its an intimate object. It doesn't have feelings.” He seemed to be insulted by the question.

“Apparently neither do you.”

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Dipper lowered his brows. “Wow, yeesh. Maybe it means that you're really good at acting like you don't have any feelings. When, _apparently—”_ He gestured towards the whiskey, then at Bill's arms, discreetly. “—you actually _do.”_

“Don't you have something _better_ to worry about? An exam? Midterms? Your own fucking problems?” Bill ran his hands through his hair, exhaling deeply. A tear or two, then three, ran down his cheek before falling down and off his chin and staining his shirt. “Please just mind your own business and leave me alone.”

“You really just don't _get_ it, do you?” Dipper felt tears sting at his own eyes and he tried his best to ignore them. “I _can't_ stop worrying, Bill. All I _do_ is worry, every second of every day. Because I'm _scared_ . Because I'm scared that one day I'm going to get a phone call, telling me…” He took a moment to recollect himself. “Telling me that you _did_ something. To yourself. That you _hurt_ yourself. And, because of that something you did to yourself, you took your last breath, and you…”

 _Died_ was the word that went unsaid, like a curse that mustn't be spoken.

Dipper voice broke when he added, “I can't stop thinking about the bathroom incident.”

Bill was quiet for a really long time, his hand over his mouth again. Then he lowered it and replied, “Me too. I can't stop thinking about it, either.” A second of silence, and, “You saved me.”

Dipper nodded, slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “I—”

 _“Let me finish!”_ Bill snapped, holding one of his arms to his chest. “You _saved_ me, even though I didn't want you to. I wanted to die, and you stopped me.” He shook his head. “I _still_ want to die. But I _can't,_ because _you'll_ just save me again. And again. And again…” He looked on the verge of hysterics. “Why won't you _let_ me?”

“You know I can't do that, Bill. And you should know why.” Dipper tried to gather his courage, managing to make himself continue. “And you're right. You can try to kill yourself again, but I'm not going to let you. With every fiber of my being, I will try to stop you. I _will_ stop you. And...and you can hate me for it, that's fine. But I'm not going to let you hurt yourself again, in _any_ way,” he emphasized, looking at the arm Bill held so close to his chest, at his bandaged hand.

Bill used both his hands to wipe the tears from his face. “Leave me alone,” was all he said, shaking his head again. “Leave me alone.”

“Your mom wouldn't want you to do this to yourself.” Dipper tried, reeling his mind back to his notes. “I—”

“No. Don't you _dare.”_ Bill glared at him. “Don't you dare like you understand _any_ of this. Don't act like you understand _me.”_ He gestured around the kitchen wildly with his arms, grasping for something that wasn't there, something he couldn't attain. It took him a moment to speak again. “I _know_ you don't understand me. _I_ don't understand me!” His hands went into his hair, and he turned away from Dipper, muttering curses under his breath.

His dissolve was breaking, and the both of them knew it. But it went unstated.

Instead, Dipper dared to step toward him. Bill _did_ notice, but he didn't move away, the only way he responded being how his stance tightened and his arms dropped down to his sides, his fingers twitching so frantically it couldn't have been intentional.

“I _want_ to be able to understand you. I want to try.” Dipper told him honestly. In a nervous, hesitant manner, he reached out and engulfed one of Bill's hands in his own from behind, interweaving those twitching fingers with his (mostly) still ones.

Bill's hands were deathly cold, but it wasn't off-putting. In fact, Dipper didn't think he minded at all.

Bill let out a breath through his nose, not looking at him, and Dipper was scared he had said something wrong.

Then Bill spoke, but not before tightening his grip on Dipper's hand. “Sometimes it feels like she's still here with me,” he whispered, as he swiveled around to meet Dipper's gaze without letting go of his hand. “It feels like she's still here with me and it sucks because she's not, but…” He raised his free hand and used his knuckles to stroke one side of Dipper's face. But then he stopped, flinching, like touching Dipper pained him. His hand dropped away. “She changed after my dad tried to…” He turned his face away, biting down on his bottom lip, obviously trying to choke down a cry.

“It's okay. You don't have to talk about it if it hurts.”  Dipper pulled his hand away from Bill's and used it to tug up his sleeve instead, revealing his arm. He did this with the other arm as well, as far as the sleeve would roll up, then raked his eyes over the scars that littered both his wrists and up his arms, and to the smaller, redder scars above his elbows, almost like red dots, it seemed. Puncture wounds. From what, Dipper wished he didn't know.

It took him a few seconds to realize Bill was speaking again. “She tried to kill herself when I was thirteen. She broke a bottle of wine and used one of the sharper pieces of glass to skit her wrists. Right in front of me. I watched her bleed and waited until she passed out so I could call the ambulance.”

Dipper ran one of his thumbs over the smaller scars, the scarier ones above Bill's elbows. He felt tears slide down his cheeks. “You don't have to talk about this right now,” he repeated.

Bill leaned a little closer, and Dipper smelled the alcohol on him, practically _tasted_ it. Of course. _Of course._ Bill was drunk. That made sense. He would never vent like this sober. How could Dipper be so stupid, thinking that Bill would actually, willingly _talk_ to him?

“Sometimes I think it's better to be alone and to be happy, then to be in a relationship and set yourself up for failure.”

“Well…” Dipper hesitated. _“Are_ you happy?”

“No,” Bill said, “I'm not.”

Not sure of what to say next, Dipper moved his hands to Bill's shoulders, as Bill's own arms linked around his waist. Bill closed his eyes, and Dipper copied the action, tilting his head up slightly to meet him halfway.

Their lips pressed together softly, hesitant on both ends. Dipper wrapped his arms around Bill's neck to pull him closer and, for a single, precious moment, he could _feel_ his roommate's sadness, his frustration, his hatred, his _pain._

And the most noticeable feeling was that of Bill's tears meeting his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not much for me to say here.
> 
> Honestly, the whole "dealing with addiction" is a huge plot point over the next few chapters and is a MAJOR factor in the end of this fic, so if I were you I would probably take this to heart. (Don't worry too much about it, though. xD) (And, in case you didn't pick up on it before, the scars above Bill's elbows are from injecting heroin. Hence the drug warning at the beginning of this chapter, I guess.)
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and comments and kudos would be MUCH appreciated. They make my day so much better, you don't understand. :)


	24. Love is Electric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternative title to this chapter would definitely be something like **Bill Tries To Use Sex To Distract Himself From His Problems, But That Doesn't Work Out Too Well.** You can kinda see why I shortened it, I guess.
> 
> Ugh, this chapter didn't come out how I wanted it to _at all_ but I'm not re-writing it so I'll take what I can get. I mean, it comes out, like, really weird? I'm sorry in advance if it doesn't read right.
> 
> Notice: this picks up right where last chapter left off. And there's _sexual content,_ so there's that. And, besides said sexual content, I don't really see any warnings for this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!!

Everything about the kiss caused unknown feelings in Dipper. It was odd. It was strange. It was unorthodox and it was _maddening,_ and it was so, so, incredibly… Well, Dipper couldn’t find the right words for it. But, amongst all of these things, it was also new and, as odd as it may have sounded, it was somehow _right._ Incredibly, shockingly right. Earth-shatteringly right.

And there was _Dipper—_ oh God, he was losing his ever-loving mind. He couldn’t seem to get enough out of it, and it was all this and more he thought about as he pressed himself against Bill—who was his _roommate,_ his freaking _roommate—_ breathing in his cologne, enjoying the feel of their lips pressed together. Bill’s lips moved so perfectly against his, soft and light and bittersweet, tasting of alcohol. As addictive as the drugs Dipper swore to himself that he would stop Bill from taking.

Bill was the first one to pull away, leaving just enough space for warm air to slip between them. He raised one hand and used his fingers to stroke Dipper's cheek, before moving that hand down to cup his jaw instead. “I'm sorry,” he said, for the thousandth time that night. In fact, he'd said it so much that the words ‘I'm’ and ‘sorry' didn't even sound like they belonged in a sentence together anymore.

What was he even apologizing for, though? The kiss? Dipper didn't exactly know, but he said, “It's fine.” He licked his lips subconsciously at the thought of what they'd just been doing. “It's fine,” he repeated, more so to reassure himself that he was saying the right thing.

Bill didn't offer a reply—if he even had one—instead tilting Dipper's head up and leaning in to kiss him again, this time not as softly, his other arm still linked tight around Dipper's waist, tugging him impossibly closer. Dipper responded immediately, closing his eyes and returning the kiss.

He wasn't sure he'd ever kissed anyone like this, not once in his entire existence. It was like he _needed_ this, like his entire life was _built_ upon kissing Bill. And he'd never felt that way before.

“What are you thinking about?” he decided to ask the older male when they broke apart for air.

“Everything.” Bill said. A pretty vague response. _Everything_ could've meant… well, _everything._ And Bill must've realized that, too, because he quickly relented, “You.”

Dipper all but sighed, and it didn't fully dawn upon him until then that he still had his arms wound tightly around Bill's neck, so he lowered them to place on the older male's chest instead, all while burying his face into his shoulder. “I'm sorry, too,” he whispered, his voice muffled.

“Y-yeah. Whatever. It's fine.” One of Bill's hands planted itself in his hair, messing with the knotted curls, scratching along his scalp, carding through his bangs, tracing the dots of his birthmark.

Unknowingly, all common sense washed out of his mind, Dipper balled up the fabric of Bill's shirt in both his hands. “I… we…” He swallowed thickly; the words _were_ there, but none of them seemed to want to come out.

So instead of speaking he tugged Bill down by his shirt and mashed their lips together. Three. This was their third kiss.

Good God, what were they _doing?_ And why—oh dear God, _why—_ did Dipper want _more_ of it?

Bill must've been thinking the same thing, because he laughed as they separated again. _Again._ The laugh was forced, along with the smile that came after it. “I never thought I'd be doing this,” he mumbled, pressing a quick peck to Dipper's cheek.

“Me neither.” Dipper replied, smiling as those same lips pressed against his other cheek. “But I've kinda wanted to do this for a while,” he said honestly, then instantly blushed at his own words. What was he saying?

“Honestly, same.” Bill's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, and for the first time that night Dipper felt relief flush out his being. They were both equally inarticulate. Equally as uncertain. Equally as inexperienced when it came to intimacy like this.

“It's 3 A.M.” Dipper told him, desperate for a conversation, looking over at the microwave clock. _It's 3 A.M. and you're drunk. And we're in the kitchen. Making out. Just a regular day, I guess._

Bill turned slightly, following his eyes to see what he was looking at. “Huh,” he said. “I suppose it is.”

Releasing Bill's shirt and dropping his hands down to his sides, Dipper lowered his gaze. Then he shook his head. “No. This is wrong. This is so, so wrong.” He looked back up at Bill, reluctantly meeting his gaze. We shouldn't be… not if… You won't—”

“I'll be _fine.”_ Bill leaned forward, but instead of kissing him he allowed their foreheads to bump together. Seemingly out of nowhere, his hands slid up Dipper's shirt, resting on his pale waist, which elicited a startled yelp from the younger male. “What about you? Are you doing okay?”

“G-great.” Dipper stammered. He shuddered. Bill's hands were freezing cold. “Just… I'm just a little tired, is all.” And, when he noticed the way Bill was looking at him, “What?”

Bill smirked, that same, familiar, _damned_ smirked that Dipper knew all too well. “Overwhelmed, are we?” he guessed. “Well, I wouldn't worry too much if I were you.” He leaned in closer, his mouth practically pressed against his roommate's ear when he said, “I'll treat you nice.”

“W-whoa. Wait. Hold on a minute.” Dipper took a step back away from him. “You're _drunk_ . I literally cannot stress this enough. Besides… _that_ would only make things awkward between us.” As in, more awkward than they already were.

“I'm not drunk. And we're not in some kind of cheesy romantic comedy.” Bill rolled his eyes, as if the thought was laughable, and pulled Dipper back to him. His hands snaked up the younger male's shirt a second time. “It's just sex. You're overreacting.”

“More like you're _under reacting,”_ countered Dipper, glaring. “And sex is supposed to be… well… Sex is more of a trust thing. And I'm not sure how much I trust you right now, to be honest.”

“You've _got_ to be kidding me. We've known each other for five months, and you're telling me that you have no idea if you trust me or not?” Bill scoffed, releasing Dipper and backing away. “Now that's just flat-out insulting."

Dipper took a deep breath, then released it. Thinking. “That's not what I meant and you know it,” he said after a moment. “I _do_ trust you. It's just…” He bit down on his lower lip for a few seconds. “I want to be friends. I _like_ being friends with you. And I don't want to ruin that.”

Bill leaned his back against the counter. His fingers began to tap against the surface in an antsy manner, and it stayed that way a moment before he stopped and said, “I like being friends with you, too.”

Well, hearing Bill say something like _that_ sure was a surprise. Dipper forced a laugh. “Tonight shouldn't have happened,” he replied. His chest heaved as he added, “I'm really sorry. I took advantage of you and that's wrong.”

Bill shook his head quickly at that, his blond locks slapping against his face. “You didn't take advantage. If anything, _I_ did. I used you caring about me as an excuse to kiss you.” He spoke softly, like he couldn't believe those words were coming out of his own mouth. They were both quiet for a really long time. Then he added, “I have an idea.”

Before Dipper could even _think_ to ask what the idea was, Bill was in front of him, so close that their noses were centimeters away from brushing together. “How about we have sex?”

Dipper's heart fluttered in his chest. “Bill, you know I can't—”

“Just hear me out for a second.” Bill interrupted, placing both his hands on Dipper's shoulders. “I know this might sound stupid and desperate, but can we at least _try?_ If it doesn't work out, fine. And, if it doesn't work out, we can still be friends. I promise we'll be friends no matter what.”

“Really?” Dipper asked, his eyes wide. Would their friendship _actually_ be alright, even after something like that? He wasn't so certain. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, I'm _pretty_ sure.” Bill nodded, taking a moment to think. “Like, at least ninety-nine percent sure.”

“I guess those odds are good...enough.” Dipper licked his lips. “Alright,” he said at last. Hesitantly, slowly, he moved his arms to wrap around Bill's neck like before, just as Bill tilted his head slightly to one side—to make sure their noses didn't bump again—and leaned in to kiss him.

This time, Bill's tongue managed to slip past Dipper's lips, leaving very little room for words, and Dipper reciprocated, still feeling a bit unsure about it all—but not as much as he had been a few second ago.

Then, suddenly, Bill was lifting him off the ground, holding him up by his rear. And, after a little bit of discomfort, Dipper found himself sitting on the counter.

He broke the kiss so they could both breathe, wiping away the string of saliva that still connected them. “Do you even know what you're doing?” he decided to ask, voicing his concerns.

To his distress, Bill shook his head in response, pressing a kiss to a spot just below his ear. “Never had sex with another guy before,” he panted, obviously still trying to catch his breath. “Just gon' wing it.” He sighed, cupping Dipper's face in his hands and looking him over for a moment or two, like he was examining some kind of ancient artifact.

“That's _very_ reassuring.” Dipper said, and forced a short laugh. And he would have said more, but the words were lost as soon as Bill began to pepper his neck with tiny, _so_ light kisses. _“Oh,”_ he amended, burying his hands in Bill's hair out of instinct. “...Alright.”

Bill laughed into the spot between his neck and shoulder. “You holding up okay?” he asked. Pressing a kiss there, he added, “Is this too much for you?”

“N-no. Not at all.” Dipper responded, a little too quickly in his defense. He paused to think; and Bill must’ve sensed his hesitation, because he stopped as well. “I mean, unlike you, I’ve never had sex with _anyone_ before.” _In a way, this is kind of a new experience for the_ both _of us._

“I figured.” _What the heck is_ that _supposed to mean,_ Dipper wanted to ask, but didn’t. Bill grinned with a bit too much confidence, sliding his hands up Dipper’s shirt for the third time, though this time he ran them along the younger male’s back, rubbing comforting circles into the skin as he leaned forward to whisper into his ear once again. His voice was husky when he asked, “Are you _sure_ you’re doing alright?”

For a brief moment, Dipper wondered if Bill was always like this during sex, if he had treated all of his previous partners with this much caution and caring. He sure hoped not.

He nodded. “Y-yeah,” he replied shakily. “M’fine. Just keep doing your thing.” He wasn’t sure he given this much trust to a single person before, maybe besides his sister. But this was different. It felt almost as if he was giving a piece of himself away. Giving away a piece of himself to Bill. Who was supposed to only be his roommate. _We haven’t even done anything yet,_ he tried to reassure himself, when he noticed that he was still shivering a fair amount.

As he tried to collect his thoughts, one of those freezing hands found its way to his stomach, pushing him back against the surface of the counter, and he let out an unmanly squeak in response. Then fingers were snaking their way into his pajama bottoms. His breath hitched. He raised one of his hands to his mouth so he could bite down on his knuckles. _Kitchen, kitchen,_ he thought, practically screaming in his head. _We’re in the freaking_ kitchen.

He didn't realize he'd actually said this out loud until Bill released him—unhooking his fingers from the sensitive area, eliciting a whine from Dipper—and pulled away, his grin ever-present. “Sorry, kinda got caught up in the moment there,” he said. His cheeks were flushed bright red, and he ran a hand through those beautiful blond locks in such a way that Dipper felt tempted to bury his own face in them, breathing them in, never separating from them.

“We should go into the main room.”

At first Dipper didn't notice Bill had spoken, he was so caught up in his insane thoughts. When he did, he wiped his face; he couldn't believe how sweaty he was already. _We haven't even done anything yet,_ he reiterated in his head.

“Yes. _Please._ Let's go,” he said aloud, and started to push himself off the counter. He was stopped mid-action, however, by Bill, who made a move to cup his rear again. Reluctantly, he allowed to it happen, tracing his own hands down to clutch Bill's shoulders and wrapping his legs around his waist, letting the older male lift him up.

“I'm not heavy?” he questioned out of nowhere, which earned him a snort from his roommate.

“Light as a feather.” Bill told him, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. Dipper's face warmed.

After what felt like an eternity (but was only about a minute), Dipper felt the mattress underneath him, and he fell backwards onto the cushiony blankets, unwinding his legs from around his roommate's waist. He tried to squirm away to give them both a little more space, but was halted by Bill again, who grabbed his legs and used them to pull him closer.

“It’s ridiculous.” At first Dipper’s tired, clouded mind couldn’t quite process who had said these words—he or Bill—but then Bill released a breath and mumbled, “I just...I…” He didn’t continue, instead moving atop the younger male in a straddle, pushing on his chest to effectively pin him to the bed. “You,” he finally whispered, voice low. _“You.”_ His golden eyes almost seemed to glow in the dark.

Dipper didn’t quite know what to say in response, so all he could force out was, “You, too.” He instantly cringed at his own words. “No, wait, I didn’t mean to say—” Groaning, he threw his head back on a pillow. _God, I’m so stupid._

Bill snickered. “No, no, it’s fine. You’re fine…” He trailed off, his eyes raking over Dipper’s form, all before he licked his lips. “...In more ways than one, of course.”

Dipper was glad it was dark, because he wouldn’t have wanted Bill to see is blush in that moment. “I honestly...I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to you anymore,” he admitted.

“I don’t want you to say anything, anyway.” Bill leaned down and, seemingly out of nowhere, chuckled and ran his tongue over the shell of Dipper’s ear. Another gasp, once again emitting from the younger of the two.

“How’s about we...both just not talk for a while?” he suggested, voice husky, his teeth lightly grazing over sensitive cartilage as the words left his lips.

“I, uh, _that,”_ said Dipper, feeling lightheaded, “sounds like a good idea.” Reaching over, he grabbed Bill's wrists and squeezed them—why, he didn't know. Maybe for some type of encouragement.

Bill must've picked up on whatever the action meant, though, because he leaned down and gave him a quick kiss. There, he said, “Let me know if it becomes too much for you. I promise I'll stop.”

“And we'll definitely still be friends if I do? Like, it won't affect anything?” Dipper just wanted to make sure, one last time.

“Yes. Now shut up. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Bill hoisted himself up and, still straddling over his roommate, tightening his fingers around the top button of his own pajama shirt, which he began to unbutton, slowly, eventually, before he went to the next one. At the same agonizing pace. And then he went onto the next, grinning.

Teasing. He was teasing, Dipper realized, as he watched him, feeling more and more self-conscious as time ticked on.

Leaning up as best he could stuck in his current position, Dipper shakily took over the task—not being able to handle the slowness of it all—undoing the buttons of Bill's shirt at a much more erratic, faster pace, which soon revealed the pale strip of flesh that was Bill's abdomen. Then he began to slide the sleeves off Bill's arms, and once the article of clothing was removed Bill balled it up and tossed it carelessly to the ground.

Dipper's gaze subconsciously flickered over to the scars on Bill's arms, the scars that Bill had caused upon himself. Intentionally. The scars that would fade away as the time passed, but would remain forever in memory, because the _memory_ of what they were and what they stood for was what really mattered—those would linger indefinitely.

And the thought was disturbing, to say the least. Dipper wondered what Bill thought of those scars, if he was proud of them. Hated them. Regretted making them.

But all these inquiries were brushed to the side as his attention shifted to Bill's chest. He gazed upon the freckles that were scattered there as well as his face, most likely scattered all over his body, and the seemingly important ones clustered around Bill's heart. _Do each of those freckles represent something, someone he holds close to his heart?_

_Do they represent anything at all?_

However, he was snapped out of his own head completely as Bill shifted and a knee pressed against his groin. He moaned aloud at the sudden rush that shot throughout his entire being, fisting the sheets underneath him, digging his nails into them and gathering the fabric between his fingers. Then, before he could even process what was happening, Bill was taking his necklace off and placing it carefully aside before tugging at his shirt, trying to take it off so they could match. Their eyes met for a split second, an instant, and in that instant Dipper could read in the older male's eyes that he wanted him to stop thinking. Just do.

Not that Dipper could do that much thinking now. His head was clouded with something unknown, something new to him. And Bill's knee wouldn't stop rubbing against _that_ area. _God,_ he was doing this to him on purpose. Of course.

But it was just _too much—_ Dipper felt like it was in a good way, though.

He arched his back and threw his arms over his head, enough so Bill could pull the shirt off. He watched as Bill threw that one to the floor, as well, unflinching as it hit the ground without a sound, like it never existed in the first place.

Frantically, he started to rub his feet against the bed in an attempt to get his socks off his feet. He cursed under his breath and, after a bit of struggle and some frustration, he managed to get one off. To save time, Bill simply took the other one off, then took his own off and added them all to the growing pile of clothes.

Not a moment later, Bill was moving his leg from between Dipper's legs and his fingers were sneaking their way into the younger's pajama bottoms again, this time unforgiving, beginning to remove them. Slowly, teasingly— _again_ —and Bill looked down at him through half-lidded eyes.

Dipper threw his head back, not able to meet his gaze. Not if he was looking at him like that.

The elastic waistband of his underwear were being handled with next, only to be snapped back loudly. The sound was barely heard, though, over the cry it drew from Dipper. _Goodness. Good God._

Then lips were pressing against his throat, followed by the sound of Bill's laughter. “I told you I'm good.”

“No, you didn't.” Dipper lifted his head to finally look up at him. “You never once told me that.”

“Ah. But I said it in spirit,” countered Bill, expression very serious. Another kiss to the same spot on Dipper's throat. “Didn't you hear it?”

Dipper couldn't help the smile that formed over his lips. _Asshole._ Running his hands through Bill's hair, he let out a sigh as his roommate leaned up to press their lips together in a deep kiss, one that said so many things.

Dipper wandered back to his thoughts despite the unspoken promise he had made to Bill. Would he have done something like this five months ago, back when he'd first met Bill? Back when Bill was just an asshole, someone he never wanted to be around? He didn't think he would have. No, definitely not.

But what made things different now, Dipper wondered. What made Bill _more_ than just a jerk? When was it that Dipper had seen past his guise? Was it when Bill had bought him the necklace? Was it during the party? When Bill had thrown up and sneaked into his bed? When Bill had worn his glasses for the first time in over a year? When Bill had tried to drown himself? During their dance? All of these events, so important, so meaningful.

Or maybe it was _all_ of them that had helped Dipper see Bill—for what he truly was, anyway. As a person. As a good person. As a friend.

But now was what mattered.

Bill pulled away, keeping their lips only an inch or so apart. Dipper started at him with wide eyes, examining his face, taking in every detail. Not for the first time, he found himself pondering over Bill's freckles. Maybe they were both alike than he had initially realized—Dipper had his birthmark, and Bill had his freckles. They both had stars.

The thought made his heart feel light.

Without warning, Bill's experienced hands were on his underwear, this time pulling them off. Suddenly Dipper felt exposed, his face red and _that_ area hot and heavy with arousal. Bill smiled at him reassuringly. _It'll be okay. It'll be just fine._

Then Bill's thumb was running over the tip of his cock and he keened, back arching all over again and his body convulsing. Breathing heavily, he screwed his eyes shut. His chest constricted, and he had the sudden urge to say something, something true, something meaningful. He needed to let Bill know.

“I love you,” he whispered, so quietly he couldn't hear the sound of his own voice. Had he sounded uncertain? Confident? He couldn't be sure. He wasn't sure he'd even said it aloud.

But he did, and Bill had heard, because he was releasing him and he was moving. Moving away. From him. Rolling over onto the other side of the bed, facing away from him, all without saying a word.

He realized his mistake too little too late. He tried to reach for Bill, to comfort him, but the damage was done. He'd messed up. His arm dropped away.

“Bill,” he said, and Bill's body tensed, “I'm sor—”

“You don't just _tell_ people things like that,” said Bill, without facing him. His voice broke when he added, “You just _don't."_

“I know.” And, when it branded nothing from Bill, Dipper rolled over to the opposite side of the bed. He wrapped one hand over his throbbing erection, though he was sure he wasn't going to have the guts to finish the job, not now. Not after this.

“I'm sorry,” he told the thin air, because Bill wasn't listening to a damn word he had to say anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN. You. Really. Just. Do _not._ Blurt things like that out. It. Ruins. Relationships. (Especially friendships.) But I'm only fifteen, what do I know, right?
> 
> In case you couldn't already tell by me trying to get these chapters out as fast as possible, I really am ready to finish this fic. I kinda wanted to finish it last year, but that didn't work out because I got in trouble with bullies and the law. But that stuff is kinda sorta outta the way now so I should be fine.
> 
> Eeee see you next chapter!!! Comments and kudos are always welcomed by me, thanks!! <3


	25. Love is Bittersweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Return of the Flashbacks + Bill's reasoning behind what happened in chapter 16
> 
> This chapter serves as a sort of transition into the end of this fic. (WHICH is the reason why it's super short.)
> 
> Chapter warnings: referenced/implied child abuse, mentions of a suicide attempt, aaand implied masturbation (notHING EXPLICIT I PROMISE YOU BUT I figured I should put that there anyway)

_ William's battered, sole-less sneakers hit the concrete hard and mercilessly as he angrily descended down the front steps of his intermediate school, and once he was at the bottom he looked up at his mother—who was much too far behind—and gave her the best glare he could muster. _

_ To his mild surprise, she gave him a look in return, obviously just as upset as he was. _

_ His lips twitched with the want to say words that wouldn't come out. So, instead of speaking, he used his shirt sleeve to wipe at the blood that was still streaming out his nostrils, then sniffed the rest up, knowing very well his mother wouldn't like that. But he didn't care. _

_ He couldn't believe this. He couldn't believe he was suspended  _ again.  _ What was it, the second time this year alone? And, to make matters worse, this fight hadn't even been his fault. The school's principal was being irrational. _

_ His mother said nothing as she walked past him, and they both walked back to the car in an uncomfortable silence, one William didn't think he trusted. Not in the slightest. _

_ He got in the car before her, opening the passenger side door and taking off his backpack so he could place it on his lap. His mother followed suit, slamming her own door after herself. _

_ She was the first to speak, sticking her keys in the ignition as she asked, “I can't believe you. You told me you were done pulling this shit, William. You're  _ thirteen,  _ I'd at least trust you to act like a civilized human being.” _

_ “It's not my fault this time, though.” William protested as he clicked on his seatbelt. “This kid was the one who wanted to fight.” He rested his hands on his backpack. “I simply fulfilled his wishes.” _

_ “Oh, really? Who's this kid, then, the one that wanted to fight?” _

_ William could tell she wasn't buying what he was saying, so he explained, “The guy in my science class is named Teeth—well, it's not his real name, but everyone calls him that because he has really big teeth—and apparently someone was spreading rumors that I was talking crap about him behind his back, right? And in the lunchroom today he was all like, ‘Fight me, bro,’ and I was like, ‘Fine, whatever man,’ because, you know, if I had said no I would have looked like a wuss, because there were a whole bunch of other guys gathered around us. So I slugged him right in the face, you see, and I kept on slugging him and—” _

_ “For God's sake, William,” his mother interrupted, shaking her head. She pulled out of the school's parking lot and onto the road. “I raised you better than this. I'm very disappointed.” _

Of course you are,  _ thought William. What he said out loud, though, was, “Sorry, Ma.” He sighed, wiping his nose again. _

_ Another five school days stuck at home with nothing to do. He didn't know how he was supposed to manage, especially considering his mom was too busy at work to stay home with him anymore. _

_ The universe seemed to want to make things worse for him. “William, there's something I need to tell you.” His mother paused, waiting to make sure he was listening. Then she said, “I'm taking another job.” _

_ William started. “What?  _ Another  _ job? Why would you need another job?” She already had two jobs, and that sounded hard enough on its own; three jobs was just downright torture. _

_ But he was sure she knew how much she was overworked, as well. Suddenly she looked very tired, the bags under her eyes large and visible. “You father is refusing to pay child support, sweetie, and I have to get the money. I need this job.” _

Of course it has to do with Dad. Everything  _ always  _ has to do with Dad,  _ William thought. He rested his face in one hand, at the same time slamming the other side of his head against the window, which earned him a startled yelp from his mother. _

_ “William!” she said without looking at him. “Don’t do that. You could break the window.” She was frowning, and after a moment she added, “I’m sorry, honey. I’m trying. I promise to God I’m trying.” _

_ “I  _ know,”  _ the boy grumbled. He wiped at his eyes, trying his best to hold back tears. “It’s fine. Whatever. I don’t even freaking care that you got a new job, okay?” That was a lie. “What is your new job, anyway?” he asked, anything to change the mood of the conversation. _

_ “Nothing to worry about, William.” _

_ William rolled his eyes. “When you say it like that, it really does make me want to worry.” _

_ “You know, I do all of this because I love you.” Suddenly she was looking at him through the rearview mirror, adjusting it slightly so she could meet his gaze dead-on. “I only want what’s best for you, William. For you to get into college, for you to get a good job… I don’t ever want you to be anything like me.” _

_ “Oh, really? So I don’t have sex with someone twenty years older than me? So I don’t get dumped because a kid isn’t wanted in the picture?” William glared at her. “Yeah, I  _ definitely  _ don’t want to be anything like you.” _

_ “William…” his mother began, but trailed off, whatever left she had to say dying on her lips. And William was thankful. He didn’t want to put up with any more of her bullcrap, anyway. _

_ But then she was saying, “One day you’ll understand.” _

_ That was it. William punched the window—as hard as he could, imagining what it would feel like if he were to actually break the glass, shattering it into a million pieces. The thought of the broken shards cutting his fist and making it bleed gave him a dark sort of aspiration. _

_ He punched the window again. And again, and again, and again. _

_ His mother pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in park. Then she was clicking off her seatbelt and was reaching towards him, grabbing his fist midway to hitting the window again. Her expression was filled with anger. _

_ “William! Stop that this instant!” _

_ “No!” her son returned, struggling to escape from her grasp. “Leave me alone! I hate you!” _

_ “You don’t know what you’re talking about, William!” _

_ Finally, he escaped her hold. And, before she could grab him again, he opened the passenger side door and got out of the car. Walking away. Then he was running. Away. From his mom. From his dad. From his school. From his stupid life. _

_ From  _ everything.

_ He heard footsteps coming from behind him, which made him run faster, as fast as his feet would carry him. But his mother was faster, he knew she was. She was going to catch up to him and they both knew it. _

_ As if to prove his point, a moment later a hand was on his shoulder and he was being spun around. He met his mother’s gaze with a glare. “Leave me the hell alone!” _

_ “I’m sorry, okay?” his mother blurted suddenly, catching him off guard. He hadn’t expected that. “I’m sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have let your father come back. I shouldn’t have left you alone with him. I shouldn’t have let him hurt you like I did.” She was crying now. “How do you think  _ I  _ feel about it? Every day, I wake up thinking, ‘What if I hadn’t come back in time?’ I—” _

_ “I don’t care about your stupid apologies! I hate you! You should’ve known better.” William wiped at his eyes again despite himself. “You should’ve known better than to leave me there with  _ him.  _ But you did, and I  _ hate  _ you.” He escaped her tight grip a second time. But he didn’t try to run. Instead he stared her down, wanting to win. For once. He wanted to win. He wanted her to feel like he did. He wanted her to hate herself like he hated her. _

_ “You don’t hate me, William. Don’t ever say that to me again. Ever,” his mother replied after a long pause, her expression grave. “Get in the car. We’re going home, and once we’re there you’re grounded for as long as your suspension lasts.” _

_ “Well, then, in that case, I might as well actually run away.” William took a step back. “I’d rather live with anyone but you. Living with  _ Dad  _ would be better than living with you.” _

_ “William, you’re being ridiculous.” Suddenly a hand was grabbing his arm, pulling him closer, holding him back, not letting him leave. “Get in the car. Now.” _

_ “Make me!” William shouted back, hands clenched into fists at his sides. This time he couldn’t help the tears that fell from his eyes, letting them slide down his face, cooling him slightly. _

_ His mother sighed. Now she didn’t seem as angry, her gaze softening into something sympathetic. She didn’t release him, though. “Please. Sweetie. I don’t want to fight with you today.” _

_ “Too late!” William said. And then he was struggling to escape her tight grasp, grumbling and swearing and saying things he would never normally say. _

_ His mother fought back, of course, struggling to keep him there, make sure he was still with her. “William!” _

_ He barely heard her cry, though. All he knew about the moment was that she was crying and apologizing and then she wasn't and one of her hands was being raised, lifted, and after that— _

_ His cheek stung. It hurt and it wouldn't stop stinging and it took him a moment to realize why. When he did, he began to cry again. _

_ “You slapped me,” he said. She would never do something like this—at least, that was what he had thought. Until now. He said it again, raising one of his own hands to brush against the cheek that had been hit, trying to make sure this was real. That this was actually happening. “You slapped me.” _

_ His mother didn't seem to hear him, because she was stepping back and away from him, both her hands clasped over her mouth. Tears were in her eyes, those deep blue eyes William always used to confide in. Always used to find comfort in. Always used to trust, to love with everything he had. _

_ But things were different now. They both knew it. _

_ “William,” she whispered. Her voice was low. Too low. It was terrifying and unnerving and unusual all at once. _

_ “What happened to us?” _

_ William wasn't sure who had asked the question. He tried and tried to think properly but he just couldn't tell. So, instead of speaking, he ran his tongue over his lips, slowly, wondering what was next. What was going to happen next. _

_ “William,” his mother repeated at last. She lowered her hands from her face and let them hang at her sides. “Remember when I used to talk to you about being happy?” _

_ William nodded, biting back a sob. _

_ “It wasn't so I could just plant bullshit in your head.” She sighed. The tears fell from her eyes in fine streams. “It was so I could give you hope. Because you can always lose faith in something, and it won't be the end. But if you lose  _ hope…  _ well, that's when things start getting tough. When you lose hope, that's when you lose  _ everything.”  _ After a moment, she added,  _ “That's  _ what I meant when I said I don't want you to be anything like me. You just...you can't lose hope. Not ever.” _

For the love of God.  _ William pushed past her and began to walk back to the car. It was a while before he heard her footsteps as she followed him and got in the driver's seat. _

_ The ride home was empty. _

* * *

 

Bill woke up with a massive headache, his skull feeling like it was about to split open. In response to it, he buried his hands in his hair, sucking in his teeth as he attempted to ride out the pain and let it pass. After a few minutes, it became obvious it wouldn't.

_ Oh, God.  _ He took a deep breath, recollecting himself, then turned onto his other side to ask Dipper for some medicine.

_ Wait. No.  _ He remembered last night—the memories played themselves in his mind like an old strip film, and he cringed. Then muttered a curse, low enough so it wouldn't wake the other male. He rolled back around to his previous position, peeling his eyes away from Dipper's still-naked form.  _ Idiot.  _ Idiot.  _ You're such a fucking idiot. _

He couldn't tell if that thought was directed at himself or his roommate.

Lifting his head, he squinted at the alarm clock on the nightstand to read the time.

Past one P.M already. He wasn't surprised.  _ Figures.  _ He'd barely had any rest at all because of...what had happened.

He pushed himself up by his elbows, trying his best to ignore how the action didn't exactly help with his headache. He hugged his knees and glanced at Dipper—quickly, not long enough to make much of a difference, or even to be noticed—before averting his eyes, lowering his head and choosing to glare down at his feet instead.

This was wrong. So, so wrong.

Moreover, to make him feel  _ that  _ much worse, Pyronica was getting the abortion today, too.  _ None  _ of this was  _ helping. _

And then it hit him. His eyes widened, and he threw his head back and groaned in spite of Dipper sleeping. The  _ abortion.  _ How could he have forgotten about it? It was scheduled for four in the afternoon, if he remembered right; so he still had time. But he could wait, because he knew already he was going to hate every second of it, being in a room and watching a baby get killed…

He shook the ugly thought away.  _ No. Not now.  _ The abortion was future Bill's problem, he decided. Right  _ now,  _ he had another problem to deal with. And a part of that problem was kinda sorta between his legs.

He sighed.

Grabbing his phone from off the nightstand (in case Pyronica decided to call or text him, which he was sure she would) and getting out of bed as quietly as he could, he made his way over to the bathroom. He closed and locked the door once he was inside, and he sat down on the ground before placing his phone to the side.

_ It's now or never, I guess,  _ he thought, bitterly, and reluctantly plunged a hand in his pants.

Once he was finished, he wiped his hand on the wall.

As if this was going to do anything, though. The rest of the problem needed to be taken care of, too.

_ Whatever. None of this was  _ my  _ fault, anyway.  _ He  _ was the one that took it too far.  _ Bill placed his hands on his knees and stared at the floor.  _ I don't have time for this. I'll try to deal with it later. _

The question being,  _ when  _ was later.

He hugged his knees again and rested his chin on top of them. Then he stared off at nothing in particular, his thoughts traveling at one hundred miles per hour. Subconsciously, his gaze trailed over to the bathtub, and a frown tugged at his lips, his heart skipping a few beats.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore, and he closed his eyes.

In spite of himself and in spite of everything he wished he could forget, he recalled what had happened in this very bathroom, way back when—on the day when he had quite literally tried to take his own breath away. His brain pounded against his skull at the thought alone, and it hurt.  _ God,  _ did it hurt.

He took a few deep breaths, on the verge of hyperventilating but not quite there.

Contrary to what Dipper probably believed, Bill didn't actually have any intentions of drowning himself on that day—at least, not at  _ first.  _ He'd meant only to take a shower so he could let off some steam after his fight with Dipper that morning.

The thing was, when he had turned on the water, he noticed a little too late that the stopper was in the drain—and, to make matters worse, it was a reminder of that  _ other  _ day, years ago, when his dad had tried to kill him.

Some part of him had wanted to feel it a second time, the painful sensation of being submerged in water. It was an almost exciting prospect, not being able to breathe, holding on for dear life, hanging on by a thread…

And then there was the more rational part of himself, the side that told him that thought was insane and so was he for wanting it again. After all, he had spent so much time, so many years, trying to forget.

Now that he was thinking back on it, he wished he had chosen his rational side. That would have prevented a whole lot of trouble.

But he hadn't.

Instead of being logical, he'd only stayed there, on his knees in front of the tub, waiting, occasionally looking over at the bathroom door. Almost like he was waiting for his dad to barge in and ruin his life all over again.

And, once the tub at been filled almost all the way with water, he turned off the faucet. Then he had stared down at the stagnant water before reaching down, barely brushing the tips of his fingers against the surface.

The water had been cold, just like it had been on the day his dad almost killed him.

He'd begun to take off his clothes after that, working but not thinking. What had he been trying to do, really? Taking a bath? Now that he looked back on it, he knew he hadn't intended that at all, not even in the slightest.

He'd gotten in the tub and sat down, resting his head against the wall. Still sitting, still waiting. Still nothing. And it stayed this way for a long while—at least, until he had suddenly allowed himself to lean backwards and go under the surface of the water.

For a second, a split second, he'd thought about getting up, getting out, saving himself,  _ not  _ dying. But then he'd thought,  _ What's the point?  _ What was the point of returning to a world that only brought him pain? What was the point of returning to a world that so clearly hated him, that wanted him to suffer for the rest of his life?

There wasn't. And that was the reason why he stayed as he was. There, in the water, staring up at the world above. At some point he had wrapped one hand around his throat as well, choking himself—and bit by bit, piece by piece, the world began to fade away, disappear.

It wasn't like anyone would have given a damn if he had died, anyway.

Sometime after that was when Dipper had pulled him out of the water, bringing him back to the place he didn't want to be. And, up to and including today, the stupid kid didn't seem to want to stop reminding him of it.

But now, as he thought about it—and thought a lot, at that—a realization dawned upon him.

_ If I had died,  _ he  _ would have given a damn. _

For the umpteenth time, three familiar little words rang in his head; like they'd been playing in his head over and over since Dipper had first said it.

_ “I love you.” _

Bill shuddered involuntarily.  _ He loves me. _

However, his phone rang then, snapping him back into reality.

Pyronica.

He answered the call, transitioning over into his next problem. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only five more chapters, my dude bros.
> 
> See y'alls next update. ;)


	26. Love is Delirious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is realistic enough, because I'm 99.9℅ sure Google has me on a blacklist somewhere for doing research on heroin lmao
> 
> (By the way; the reason I upped this fic's rating to E isn't because of chapter 24. It's because of this chapter and the next.)
> 
> Chapter warnings: drug use, suicidal dialogue, mentioned suicide
> 
> P.S. this chapter isn't edited.

When Dipper woke up it was well past three in the afternoon―and, to make it all the more worse, Bill wasn’t there anymore.

It was predictable, but Dipper couldn’t help the stab in his chest at the sight of empty sheets beside him. Of course, he’d expected it. He’d said the wrong thing on a whim, a single-second decision made when he couldn’t think properly, his thoughts blocked off by lust. And it had scared Bill off.

He was such a fucking  _ moron. _

But he should have expected it, honestly—Bill was right. Who just... _ blurted  _ things like that out of nowhere? And what was he  _ thinking.  _ This wasn't some kind of romcom television show.

This was  _ real life. _

Dipper sat up, slowly, and began to rub his eyes, which were heavy from sleep and red from crying, probably as he slept. He honestly couldn't recall the half of what had happened after  _ all that,  _ nor did he think he cared at this point.

At this point, he really just wanted to crawl into the nearest corner, assume the feeble position, and cry for the rest of his life.

_ Seriously. What is  _ wrong  _ with me? _

Brushing his thoughts aside, he forced himself to move over onto his other side so he could reach down and pick up his underwear from off the ground.

He pulled them on, then stood, getting to his feet and cracking his back, which was slightly sore from sleeping on his less comfortable side.

He tried to think of where Bill might be.

Heading across the room, peering into the kitchen and, when he found nothing, the bathroom; and wasn't too surprised to find nothing. After all, he really  _ had  _ messed up. And it really was  _ that bad. _

But a guy could still wonder.

Some part of him felt as if he should know where Bill was, like the answer was right there, at the tips of his fingers, but he couldn't quite grasp it…

_ The abortion.  _ The memory came back to him then, and he muttered a curse under his breath, suddenly feeling like a complete tool.

It wasn't like Bill had enough to deal with at it was.  _ I can't believe this. His baby's gonna die and now he has to put up with seeing  _ me  _ every day, after I told him that I…I… _

_ Did I even mean it? _

A sudden thought, a quick one, one that came out of nowhere, appeared out of thin air. He banished it as fast as it had arrived.

_ Of course I meant it. I mean...I said it, didn't I? _

He sighed, wringing his hands together uncertainly, doing a whole lot of regretting, regretting, regretting.

He wondered if Bill was going to alright after the abortion. After all, he'd seemed so excited to be a dad despite how well he'd been able to hide it.

_ He's not going to be alright,  _ he thought, knowing it was wrong to jump to the worst conclusion but knowing it was true all the same.

With that in mind, he decided to wait it out until Bill got back from the hospital, sitting back down on the bed and and staring up at the ceiling for a bit, before he opted to do something more productive and pulled out a book to read instead, waiting, waiting, waiting until Bill got back.

Then it came to him, an ugly thought appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Was Bill even going to come back? What if he was going to go arrange to get his room moved after he left the hospital, then came back to the room only so he could retrieve his things?

Dipper took a deep breath.  _ No. Don't think like that. Moving rooms is a lengthy process, right? It would take a few weeks for it to happen, and besides, Bill would need a good excuse to move out in the first place. _

_ Right? _

He swallowed in spite of himself.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said  _ those words.  _ Those three words that people should never say to other people unless they’re family or are very, very sure of themselves.

And he’d said it at the time people should never say it at.

_ Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it.  _ His grip tightened on his book, and he realized then he hadn’t been making any kind of process on his reading at all. Instead, he’d been reading the same paragraph over and over again for the past thirty minutes, the same words running and running through his head and making themselves known and never leaving.

He groaned.

He’d been sitting on the bed with his face buried in his knees when he heard the door to the room open, and he lifted his head, yawning and opening his eyes.

Had he been sleeping? He brought a hand to his face and brushed his fingers ever so lightly over one of his eyes, just to see, but was greeted with the cold feel of salty tears on his face and a bitter, unpleasant taste in his mouth and deep in his throat.

“Hi,” said Bill, snapping Dipper out of his deep thoughts. When he looked over at the blond, he saw him striding over to his own side of the room and opening one of the drawers to his dresser. “You can go back to sleep, I’ll only be here for a second.”

Dipper swept his legs over the side of the bed and dared to look at him as he removed his shirt and swiftly pulled on a new one in its place. He blushed at the memory at the night before; then mortification rushed over him when he reminded himself how it had all ended.

“Listen, Bill,” he started, “I’m really sorry for—”

_ "Don’t.” _

Dipper stopped mid sentence, clamping his mouth shut.

Bill wasn’t looking at him; he was instead leaning over his dresser, his forehead nearly touching the surface, his eyes screwed shut and his face scrunched up in what seemed like a great amount of pain. He took a few deep breaths, in and out, in and out, as if he were trying to stop from crying or screaming or laughing. Or all of the above.

“Don’t,” he said again after a long, painful moment. “Don’t you  _ dare.  _ Don’t say  _ anything  _ to me.”

Dipper obliged, but he wanted to say something. He wanted to say sorry, over and over and over again, and he wanted to ask for everything to go back to the way it was before. Before everything that had happened last night. Before they had kissed, even.

Being just his friend—or even his enemy, in some cases—was better than this.

“You told me...You told me that you…” Bill clenched his hands into fists and slammed one onto the surface of the dresser. “You have  _ no right  _ to say  _ anything else _ to me.”

As much as it hurt to hear that, Dipper could understand why Bill was acting like this. He’d just been through an abortion...and that was only a part of it.

But Bill was clearing his throat, clenching and unclenching his fists, probably in an attempt to calm himself down. Then he was standing up straight, and he glanced over at Dipper. His expression was mostly unreadable, but Dipper hadn’t been able to see the tear stains on his face until then.

“Before I go,” he said. He closed his eyes, but only for a second or two. He rubbed his temples.

Dipper waited.

“I know you think I have feelings for you.” Bill furrowed his brows and turned away. He headed back to the door as he spoke, and once he opened it he said, “But I don’t. So you should just forget about everything and move the fuck on.”

The door slammed.

* * *

 

A month passed, most of it in silence. Bill spent virtually no time in their room; he was gone for entire weekends, Dipper not hearing a word from or seeing him for the full two days, and on weekdays he  _ was  _ there, but only after dark.

Dipper knew his classes ended at three. What he was doing between that time and ten o’clock at night Dipper didn’t know, nor did he think he wanted to know.

Or, at least, he  _ told _ himself he didn’t know. He recalled upon the scars on Bill’s arms, the ones on the veins in the crooks of his elbows.

A slightly disturbing image of a needle came to his mind, and he shuddered.

He hoped he was wrong.

It wasn’t until they reached the first few days in March when Dipper realized Bill’s birthday was steadily approaching—only a few weeks away from the current date. And then, with that in mind, he frantically tried to come up with an idea for a present.

Of course, nothing he could possibly conceive would be as good a gift as what Bill had gotten him for  _ his  _ birthday, but he could try nonetheless. And maybe, just maybe, this present would be good enough to get Bill to start talking to him again.

It was on a Saturday when there had been a knock on the door, and at the time Dipper had been doing research for an essay that was due to his professor in a few days; however, he was quick to respond to the knocking, putting his laptop to the side and pushing himself out of bed, thinking, wishing,  _ hoping  _ it was Bill.

When he answered the door, his smile fell as quick as it had come.

Pyronica must have been able to sense his disappointment, because she adjusted her purse over her shoulder irritably and said, “It’s nice to see you, as well.”

Dipper sighed. “No, no, it’s not you. My bad. It’s just...I’ve been waiting for Bill to show up.” Suddenly he felt self-conscious, stepping aside as to allow her into the room, but she didn’t budge. “Is something wrong?” he asked as soon as he noticed her expression flicker, if not briefly.

Pyronica’s lips twitched. “I know where Bill is,” she said at last, slowly, like she was considering whether or not she should tell him, “so, if you want to see him, come on. But I can’t promise you’re going to be all that happy when you see him.”

_ When would I ever?  _ Dipper thought, but he couldn’t help the churning that had long since started in his stomach. Something was wrong, but Pyronica wasn’t telling him what.

“Where is he, then?” he asked after some hesitation. His hands twitched at his sides.

“That's the bad part.” Pyronica pinched her nose, then took a deep breath or two, in and out, in and out. Trying to keep herself calm, Dipper noticed. But why? What could possibly be so bad?

Dipper gave in. He would just have to see when he got to wherever Bill was, right?

“Fine, I'll go,” he said, almost to himself. “But why would you ask me to come along if you know I won't like it?” He knew Pyronica enough to realize she understood him well; probably more than he understood himself. If she said he wouldn't like it, then he knew he wouldn't like it.

“Because I'm gonna need to ask for help from you with something afterwards,” replied Pyronica, holding out her hands palms-up. They were empty, but it felt as if she was holding a metaphorical weight of some sort. Something very, very heavy. “And you're not going to like what I'll ask you, either.”

“Then why should I go?”

“Easy. You know I'm not going to leave until I get a yes.”

She had a point.

And, with that stated, she didn't bother saying anything else, already knowing the answer. She turned on her heels and and began to walk off without looking back to see if Dipper was following.

Dipper, taking the hint, quickly grabbed his keys to the room and locked the room on his way out so he could catch up to her, still straining to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

Once they had left the dorms and were out in town, Pyronica hailed the first cab that came by with skill and climbed in, Dipper following suit, both his anxiety and curiosity peaked.

“Can I ask where we're going now?” he asked carefully, and Pyronica replied with a simple shake of her head.

“You'll find out when we get there.”

_ Yeah, and that's what worries me.  _ Dipper sighed and leaned his head against the window, allowing himself to drown in his own thoughts.

But, what felt like not seconds later, no time at all, Pyronica was nudging him awake. He lifted his head, sight a little blurry, and it took him a moment or so to realize he had fallen asleep again.

He shook it off, though, and got out the cab as Pyronica paid the fare, her expression neutral. Passive.

“How long have we been driving for?” he asked, stretching out his limbs as the cab drove away. His arms were thrown over his head as he turned and began to examine their surroundings.

It wasn't any part of town he recognized. At the very least, this area seemed to be isolated on the side of a dirt road, one that any sensible person would choose to stay away from. It was pretty much empty not including a house or two here and there, but they looked so old and rundown that just seeing them from a distance made Dipper uncomfortable.

He was snapped out of his mental exploring when Pyronica wound one of her arms through his, an act of reassurance. She gazed at him sympathetically. “Come on,” she said.

She led him to one of the house, to his discomfort, and Dipper noticed immediately that this one was smaller than the others. Exceptionally small. It was brown, a dull shade of the color, and there was but one floor, the only possible view of it being the window on the front side—but it was blocked out with wood as to prevent peering eyes. The door was locked up tight as well, laced with chains and having more than one knob that could only be unlocked from the inside.

Dipper swallowed as he took it all in, terrified. He already knew what kind of things went on in there, and he didn't like it.

“Stay close to me,” Pyronica told him, her voice low in warning. Then she stepped forward and knocked on the door. This action was immediately met with a response from the other side.

Whoever it was had a low and gravelly. It almost sounds broken. Like the voice of a smoker, or something much, much worse. “Who is it?”

“It's the police,” replied Pyronica. “Let us in. All of you bastards are going to the slammer.”

“You ain't foolin’ me, Py. I know it's you. I'd recognize that damned voice of yours anywhere.”

“Where's William?” Pyronica asked. She pulled Dipper a little closer, to which he was thankful for. A little comfort sounded amazing right then. “And don't say he's not in there. I know he is.”

So that was it. Bill was in there doing drugs.  _ Great.  _ Dipper had known that was it, but the fact it was so close to being directly stated had him feeling like he was going to vomit.

“Yeah, he's here, alright. Bastard’s been here all day.” A laugh. “But why should I let you in?”

Dipper glared down at his feet. Now it was confirmed—Bill was definitely doing drugs. But  _ why. _

“Let us in,” Pyronica said, slowly, her voice lowering an octave, “or I swear to fucking God the police really  _ will  _ be here in a few minutes.”

“Go on, do it. You won't.”

Pyronica raised her brows. “Will I?”

There was a long pause after that, the tension so tangible it could be cut with a knife. Dipper subsciously pressed himself closer to Pyronica. Her body was warm. She glanced at him, briefly, ad gave him a comforting smile. He tried to return it, but he was sure his own had come out looking more like a grimace than anything.

Then there was the sound of clicking and scratching coming from the inside, and suddenly the door was being flung open and a tall, burly man was standing there. His gaze was on Pyronica, a glare, before it fell onto Dipper, and an ugly, yellow-toothed grin made its way onto his lips.

“Don't tell me this kid wants to try some,” he said, and laughed, as if the thought was somehow funny.

Dipper immediately wanted to punch him in the face.

Pryonica only rolled her eyes and said, “Where is he?”

The man stepped aside and ushered them in, quickly, glancing out at the street nervously. “Bathroom,” he said, and once Dipper and Pyronica were inside he slammed the door and began the long, tedious process of locking it up once again.

The first thing Dipper noticed once he was in was the horrible  _ smell.  _ It seemed to be something like a mix of old vomit and mildew from lack of cleaning, along with the unfamiliar odor of things Dipper didn't recognize; though he could take a wild guess at what they were. He settled on pulling himself away from Pyronica, but only for a moment so he could pull his scarf over the lower half of his face to block it out. It didn't work too well. He gagged and he settled next to Pyronica again.

The house certainly looked smaller on the inside than it did on the outside. Being in here almost made him feel claustrophobic, like he was encased in a tight box from which he would never be able to escape. And, in a way, it sort of was.

The kitchen and living space were next to each other, the kitchen having an illegal garden all its own, which Dipper tore his eyes away from. There was also a single bedroom on the far side of the house, but it was locked up as tightly as the entrance, so he supposed only a select few were allowed in there.

And then there was the bathroom, where that suspicious guy had said Bill was. The door was slightly ajar, some light spilling out.

Pyronica led him in that direction, steering him around someone who was resting in a sleeping bag on the floor. Based on how weird his face looked, Dipper could only assume he'd been doing stuff for a while.

“How are you holding up?” Pyronica asked him quietly as they stood there at the door, one of her hands on it, ready to push it open. “Maybe I shouldn't have brought you here, after all. Are you sure you're going to be alright? Because I could have you wait outside if you want.”

“N-no. I'm freaking fantastic. Let's do this.” Dipper rested his head on her shoulder, trying his best to take a few soothing breaths and keep his cool, but it was becoming increasingly more and more difficult as the seconds passed. However, he needed to be strong. He  _ had  _ to be strong. Not just for himself, but for Pyronica, too, and Bill. He knew Pyronica wouldn't say it but she needed him to be here with her.

Finally, when he was sure he was calm enough to go on, he lifted his head and gave her a nod, the go-ahead. She nodded in return and pushed open the door, revealing a scene more terrible than the rest of the house itself.

The toilet was ripped out of its spot, the only thing giving away the fact it was once there being the wooden lining of it still permanent on the wall and floor. There was a small table there rested in its spot, two chairs tucked under it, and as they got closer to it Dipper noticed the empty plastic baggies on the surface, amongst the...other things.

A churning kit was the first thing that made Dipper swallow, before his eyes fell over to the empty needles resting near it, ready to be used should someone want them. And, as Dipper swept his gaze across the rest of the room, he noticed the blood that was smeared on the walls, the stains so old they looked almost pink. There were also cigarette buds on the floor and, near the tub, a needle that had been  _ recently _ used. Its tip had fresh blood.

Pyronica nudged him and gestured to the tub with her head, and he gasped, having to stop himself from tearing out of her hold and rushing over with open arms. Tears ran down his cheeks.

Bill sat there in the tub, assumed in the feeble position, his face buried his knees, curled up so tight and so still someone could mistake him for a dead man. For a second, Dipper felt convinced that he was; but then he noticed the slight stir, the smallest vibrations as he breathed in and out.

_ Oh, thank God.  _ He was still alive.

Dipper wanted to punch  _ him  _ in the face, too, and when he glanced at Pyronica her expression said basically the same.

She pulled away from Dipper and started for the tub. Grabbing Bill by one of his arms, she tugged him up and out.

Eyes closed, he muttered some nonsense under his breath before he said, “Whoisit?”

“Pyronica. And Dipper. William, we're leaving.”

Bill yawned. “Oh.” His eyelids fluttered slightly, like he was trying to open his eyes, but it wasn't working. He grunted. “You...you shouldn' tell Dipper I'm ‘ere,” he said. “I'm  _ really _ high right now, Py.”

“Like I just said,” Pyronica replied, “Dipper  _ is  _ here.”

“Well, shit.” Bill turned his face in Dipper's direction, which the younger male responded to with a frown. “Why is he here?”

“I brought him here. So he could see what you've been doing and help me stop you from continuing.” Pyronica spoke to him slowly, and something midway through her statement she looked over at Dipper and her eyes flashed with something he couldn't quite recognize at the time.

Later, he realized it was fear.

Bill nodded thoughtfully. Then he paused. Processing.

At last, he asked, “Why would you wanna stop me from doin' this? Being high is the only thing that makes me happy.”

Dipper's heart shattered at that, and he turned away, bracing his arms on the blood-stained wall to stop from falling to his knees.  _ You say that like we were never even friends, like we never went through what we went through. Didn't I tell you how much I care about you? _

He didn't understand. He had  _ no fucking  _ idea what it was. What it wasn't that he hasn't done that made Bill feel so useless, useless enough that he would want to go to places  _ like this  _ and do things  _ like this. _

“And how do you think it makes  _ us  _ feel, having to see you like this?” Pyronica asked. Her voice was angry.

Then there was the sound of flesh meeting flesh. Pyronica had smacked him across the face.  _ Good,  _ Dipper thought.  _ It's about time someone did. _

“You  _ idiot,”  _ Pyronica said. “What do you think you're doing, hanging out with guys like this? You're going to land yourself in  _ prison.” _

“So  _ what.” _

Dipper swiveled around to face him, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “So you  _ want  _ to go to prison?” he demanded, so many emotions swirling around inside him. And he opened his mouth to say more, but stopped himself from doing so when Pyronica pressed a finger to her lips, silently telling him to keep quiet. She could do the talking.

But Dipper didn't want just  _ her  _ to do the talking. In fact, there was a whole  _ lot  _ of talking he wanted to do on his own part. However, he listened, shoving his fists into his pockets and settling on examining Bill's face instead.

_ Open your  _ damn  _ eyes,  _ he wanted to shout, but didn't, because he knew that Bill was physically incapable of doing so.

Pyronica, satisfied with his silence, grabbed Bill's face in one of her hands and turned him to face her. Their noses were inches away from brushing when she said, “You can't keep doing this to yourself, William. You may think doing this is helping things, but it's not. You need to stop running away from your problems and start facing them like a fucking man.”

Bill didn't say anything, only mouthed words, seemingly to himself. Dipper strained to read what they were, but he couldn't quite figure them out.

Pyronica continued. “With this path you're going down, things aren't going to get better—they'll get  _ worse.  _ Much, much worse. And if you don't want that you need to get help.”

“I don't  _ need  _ your damn help,” replied Bill, his brows furrowing, though his eyes remained closed. “I don't need help from  _ anyone.” _

_ “Listen to me.”  _ Now Pyronica sounded desperate, upset. For the first time ever, Dipper saw her stoic persona fall away, and suddenly she was begging, crying, pleading with Bill. “If you keep this up”—she gestured around the bathroom as she spoke—“you're going to wind up on the streets or dead. Do you  _ want  _ that to happen?”

_ “Yes,”  _ Bill whispered, so softly it was almost like he hasn't said it at all. “I  _ want  _ to die. That's all I've  _ ever _ wanted.” And he laughed, the sound ironic and cold. “The guy that was here the other day— _ he  _ died. In his sleep. When me and the guys woke up this morning he was dead, in a puddle of his own vomit. And I just thought, ‘Why can't that guy be me?’”

So that explained the smell of vomit...more or less. But that wasn't what Dipper cared about at the moment. His lips twitched with the want to speak, to yell at Bill, to scream, but he couldn't find the words.

“Let's go, William."

_ “No.”  _ Bill yanked his arm out of Pyronica's hold and moved back to his previous position in his tub, minus being curled up into a ball. Instead he placed his hands on his knees and dropped his head down to his chest. He muttered nonsense under his breath. Then, “You can just go. I'll stay here.” He settled his body back against the wall, breathing through his mouth.

Pyronica only stared at him for a moment, her eyes thoughtful as she thought of what to do with him—or, at least, Dipper thought that was what she was trying to do. Then she stepped away from Bill, to Dipper's surprise, and walked up to him.

“You doing alright?” she asked again, placing a hand on his shoulder, and he forces a nod. “Good. Do you might if I leave you alone with him for a minute?”

“What? Why?”

“I need to talk to the addicts for a minute. I'm not trying to get some of my own, I swear,” she said, when she noted Dipper's expression. “I wanna know how long he's been coming here. I'll be right back.”

“Oh...okay.”

Pyronica squeezed his shoulder in encouragement before she stepped out, making sure to close the door on her way out. And Dipper went the extra mile by clicking it shut, making sure none of those suspicious guys got in. Then he swiveled around to face Bill, whose face was now turned in his direction.

He took a deep breath, released it, waiting, hoping that Bill would be the first to speak, because he had no idea what to say.

After a few moments it became painfully apparent that Bill  _ wasn't  _ going to speak, so he gathered up all the courage he could and finally said, “I can't believe you would want to do this to yourself. Pyronica’s right, you need help.” Bill only shook his head.  _ “No.  _ Don't start this. I just need to tell me  _ why.” _

Bill placed his hands down on either side of the tub and he lifted himself up slightly, trying to get out. But then his body seemed to give out on him, because he collapsed. His eyelids fluttered with the need to open. “You wouldn't understand.”

“You're an addict.”

“No I'm not,” he protested, a little too fast for Dipper to believe what he was saying. “I haven't even been doing this for long. There's no way I could be an addict. I'm not like  _ them.” _

Dipper shook  _ his  _ head now, Bill's denial in all of this scaring him to the point of actually wanting to laugh; if he only had the energy to do so. He just wanted to...well, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do at this point. Punch Bill in the face, maybe, tell him he was a fucking idiot.

Instead, though, he pressed his back against the door and slid down it until his butt met the floor, and he sat there. He buried his hands in his curls.

“You  _ are  _ an addict,” he repeated, silent enough so Bill wouldn't be able to hear his words. “You just don't realize it yet.”

“Why are you even here?” Bill asked. His voice was loud.

“Pyronica told me to.”

“Why?”

Dipper pressed his lips into a thin line. If he was being honest, he didn't know. Pyronica still hadn't asked him about the thing she talked about earlier. But he couldn't let Bill know that, so he decided to reply with, “So we could get you help.” Those words felt right on his tongue; he was sure that was what Pyronica wanted in the end, as much as he did.

_ Not just  _ our  _ help, either,  _ he thought, pulling his knees to his chest.  _ Professional help. You need, like, rehab or something. Pryonica's right when she says you're going to die if you keep going on like this.  _ And, not for the first time, he imagined Bill—dead body on the floor, much like how Bill mentioned the guy who died that morning—and the image made him shiver.

“You're not crying, are you?” Bill asked, and Dipper almost wanted to tell him he was being stupid. But then he ran his fingertips over his cheek and, in fact, felt the wet trail of tears there. “God, if you're crying over something like this then you're obviously not going to survive out in the real world.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dipper snorted, wiping his face. “If by ‘the real world' you mean ‘the druggie world,’ then I agree with you. I am definitely not ready for it. Actually, I never wanted to be dragged into it in the first place, but  _ look  _ where I am.” He gestured around wildly. “And can you guess who's fault  _ that _ is?”

“As long as I don't overdose, I won't die,” Bill whispered out of nowhere. Surprising Dipper a bit with the tone those words were spoke in. And he said it again, as if to reassure himself of this, this time so much more quiet, the ghost of a whisper. “As long as I don't overdose, I won't die.”

“And how much,” Dipper asked him, “would constitute as an overdose?”

Bill was quiet for a long time.

Then,  _ “I don't know." _

“You're going to kill yourself.”

Bill reached into his pocket, and after a moment he came out with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

He lit one of the cigarettes and put the pack back on his pocket, keeping the lighter out. Seemingly in a force of habit, he began to flick it repeatedly. Flame. No flame. Flame. No flame. This process went on for what felt like forever before he spoke through the tobacco in his mouth, letting out little clouds of gray smoke as he said, “That's exactly what I've been waiting to do.” Dipper swallowed at the look he gave him. “I told you this.”

He was right. He had said before that he was going to kill himself when Dipper wasn't around. Dipper remembered it vividly, but at the time a part of him had been hoping that Bill was bluffing. But he wasn't, and this—all of this, the drugs, the alcohol, the cigarettes—was happening, it was real and not some kind of sick dream. And it was absolutely terrible.

Bill's pain haunted Dipper. It was like some kind of greater evil, swallowing him whole and consuming him, suffocating him to the point of not being able to breathe, making him want to laugh and scream and cry all at once.

And the worst part of having to live with the pain of this was that Dipper had  _ nightmares  _ about it, of seeing Bill's dead body lying limp on the floor, unmoving after a bad overdose. It was in these nightmares that Dipper would lean down next to him and turn him over onto his side, and when he did he would see that Bill's eyes were wide open and glazed over, unseeing.

The dead couldn't see, and Dipper didn't want to see the dead, either.

“The first time I was shot up,” Bill was saying, and Dipper snapped out of his own head to listen to him, “all of my problems just...went away.” Bill snapped his fingers. “Like that. I felt complete. It felt as if heroin was the only thing I needed to be truly alive, but I'd never known because it'd been missing from my life.”

“You know that's not true,” Dipper said. Trying to reason with him, though he knew he was already too far gone to come back on his own. “You don't need drugs to feel like you're worth something. All you need is to do things and be surrounded by people who make you happy.”

“People shouldn't be happy,” Bill replied, sour. “If people were supposed to be happy and God was supposed to save us all, then nobody would be suffering.” He threw his arms in the air. “My mom prayed since the day I was born, begging to God and asking him to give the both of us a better life. And you know what?” He lowered his arms and laughed. “That better life never came; and, finally, she gave up. She shot herself and that was it. Now its my turn to suffer.”

Dipper played those words over his in head, attempting to process them. It took him a moment or so, but once it all came to him his eyes widened and he threw a hand over his mouth.  _ She shot herself. _

Bill's mother had killed herself.  _ That  _ was why Bill was so messed up about it.

Just as fast, another revelation hit him.  _ Pyronica doesn't know that Bill's mom killed herself. Bill never told her. _

It was almost as if Bill had read his mind. “I told everyone else she hit her head falling down the stairs and died in the hospital. You're the first person I've ever told the whole truth.” He pulled the cigratte out of his mouth and let out a long breath of smoke. “If you ever tell  _ anyone  _ I swear to God I'm going to fucking strangle you.”

Dipper would have said more, but was cut off at a knock on the door. He immediately jumped up.

“It's me,” came Pyronica's voice. “Listen, we need to leave. Right now. The other guys are already gone.”

“What happened to them?” Bill asked.

“That doesn't matter,” Pyronica replied. “What matters is that the police are going to be here in fifteen minutes and we need to go  _ now.” _

That was enough for Dipper. He opened the door and allowed her in, and she walked over to Bill, helping him out of the tub. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and they left the bathroom first, Dipper following behind. He cast one last look at the bloodied walls on his way out.

In the cab, it didn't take long for Bill to fall asleep, his breaths turning into light snores as the heroin hit its second stage. Pyronica sat between him and Dipper, her expression grave and tired.

“There,” she said. “With luck, the police are going to find those guys and get them the help they need, along with a lot of time in prison.” She cast a glance at Bill, adding, “If only I could do the same for him.”

“You called the police,” Dipper said.

Pyronica looked back at him. “Yes. It was the only way I could make sure William never goes back there again.”

They were both silent for a long time. Then Dipper asked, “So what was that thing you wanted to ask me for help with?”

“Right.” The blonde adjusted in her spot and placed a hand in Bill's hair, stroking the locks lightly as she said, “I need you to not let him out of your sight. Don't let him out of the dorms for anything. Make sure he goes to classes in the morning. Wait for him outside his last class of the day. He's not allowed anymore alcohol or drugs. I need to find out what to do with him.”

_ He goes to classes after me,  _ Dipper thought, but what he asked was, “How am I supposed to know if he stays in his classes during the day, though?”

“I can have 8 Ball and Tad take care of that part. Don't worry about it.” And she was quiet once again. A moment, then two.

“I'm an alocoholic,” she added at last. “I'm going to rehab once classes let out. I have the insurance to pay for it, the problem is that  _ he  _ doesn't. Nor does he have the money. And that's where things get tricky.”

Dipper nodded and leaned his head against the window. “We'll find a way,” he whispered.

The rest of the ride was quiet, and once they got back to the dorms Dipper brought a very sleepy Bill back to their room after giving Pyronica a quick goodbye hug.

"Lemme sleep,” Bill mumbled as Dipper unlocked the door, and he ushered him inside. The blond immediately collapsed upon the bed and curled up under the covers, falling asleep in record time.

Reluctantly, Dipper cuddled up next to him, burying his head between his neck and shoulder. His body was drained; he needed sleep, too.

“I love you,” he whispered to the sleeping Bill, his voice low so he wouldn't wake him, “and that's why I can't let you hurt yourself anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update we get to see how Bill handles withdrawal, so that's going to be a thing that happens, I guess. See you then!


	27. Love is Adaptable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter already because I got a full week off of school last week and had a whole lotta time to write.
> 
> Chapter warnings: symptoms of drug/alcohol withdrawal, suicidal thoughts/dialogue
> 
> This is the second to last chapter in Bill's POV, so enjoy it, _mis amigos._

“Happy birthday, you son of a bitch.”

Bill rolled his eyes, leaning his face in one hand. “Thank you, Hector,” he said, his gaze falling onto the white envelope that had been placed on the table as the other spoke. He could take a wild guess on what was in it—some kind of cheesy card, probably, and inside some cash. Maybe twenty dollars.

Hector gave him a lopsided grin, sliding it towards him. “Come on, man, open it.”

“Alright, alright. Whatever you say.” Bill straightened and pushed his lunch tray to the side, reaching for the envelope. Carefully, slowly, he pulled open the tab—it wasn't shut as tight as he had thought it would be. He took out the card that was inside— _ Bingo,  _ he thought—and read it over quickly. He left the money inside and shoved the card into his hoodie pocket.

“So,” Hector said, taking a sip of his iced tea, “how old are you now? Four? Five?”

“Very funny, but I'm twenty-two now. Meaning that, a few months from now, I'm hightailing it out of this place.”

“Where are you even going after this?” Hector asked him, tracing his fingertips along the surface of the table. It was their scheduled lunch block, and it was hard to hear him with all the chatter going on around them. “Py told me she's headed to New York once she graduates. Apparently she's already found a job there. Isn't that crazy?”

_ Of course she has.  _ Bill vaguely remembered when he had lived in New York, when he and his mother had first arrived in the United States. He couldn't recall much, but he knew a lot of people there were assholes.  _ I guess she'd fit right in, then.  _ She deserved it for stopping it from getting shot up.

He knew it had only been a few weeks since he'd last gotten high, but it felt like years ago now. It was like a part of him had gone missing and he would never be able to find it. The police had taken control of the area and were investigating the houses—it was said on the news the day after he'd left that they had found the secret stashes of heroin and cocaine there, as well as Bill's dealer and a few other guys. In fact, he was pretty sure he had been the only one not taken in.

Well, besides Hector.

Thank goodness, too. Hector had been the one to introduce him to his dealer months ago, whispering promises of a way to rid himself of all his problems, at least temporarily.

Bill wanted to get high again. Hector had told him he'd find another way, another place, another dealer, but so far he had come up with jack shit. And it was frustrating.

Bill ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. Patience was a virtue, he supposed.

He hoped Hector would find someone soon—preferably as fast as possible, because his entire body hated him and it was one of the most painful experiences he'd been through in his entire life.

Not only was he always exhausted, but he couldn't sleep; and when he did sleep his rest was filled with the usual nightmares (the ones he'd been having for months, only ten times worse).

Every waking moment felt horrible, too, his head aching nonstop and all the muscles in his body seeming to not want to work. He felt incredibly heavy, like he would collapse under his own weight at any second, which was why he preferred to sit down whenever he had the chance.

“Are you doing alright there, bud?” Hector asked, and Bill snapped his head up, coming back into reality. “Are you crying?”

Subconsciously, Bill reached up with one hand and rubbed his eyes each in turn, grumbling curses under his breath. He wasn't crying. His eyes were just really watery.

“I’m fine,” he dismissed, a rush of anger washing through him. He clenched his hands into fists under the table, wanting to punch something, someone,  _ anything _ . Because doing  _ something  _ would be better than just  _ sitting  _ here, doing... _ what,  _ exactly? A whole lot of nothing. Exactly. He was wasting his time here.

“You know I'm still trying to look, right?” Bill's gaze flitted over to meet Hector's, and envy came next; envy at the fact that he was  _ suffering  _ and Hector seemed to be perfectly fine. It wasn't fair. “In the meantime, you can, like, get high off of something household. Laundry detergent, hairspray... You know that, right?”

Bill shook his head. “No,” he said. “It's not the same.” Besides, a certain  _ somebody  _ wouldn't let him do that, anyway. Anything with a strong scent would be taken away from him and hidden in a heartbeat.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he said as he rolled one of his shoulders to alleviate the pain, add some life there, make it  _ lighter.  _ He had no idea it was possible to feel so out-of-place in his own body. It was terrifying, like he'd woken up one morning and wasn't himself anymore. Which, in a technical sort of way, was precisely what had happened.

Hector opened his mouth, like he was about to say something, but was cut off short of saying whatever it was by the sound of someone clearing their throat. He and Bill turned their heads simultaneously to see who it was.

_ Pacifica.  _ Like Bill needed another reason to want to die. He rolled his eyes and slumped down in his seat, wanting to hit the floor and stay there for the rest of eternity. “What the hell do you want? Listen, I'm not in the mood today.”  _ Or any other day, for that matter.  _ He was too tired to pick a fight.

“Actually, I got you something for your birthday,” Pacifica said, eying him carefully as she slammed a blue birthday card on the table, much like the one Hector had given him only a few moments ago. “There's one hundred and fifty dollars in there. You're welcome.”

_ “What?”  _ Shooting upright, Bill reached over and swiped the card away from her, opening it and taking out the cash inside. He counted. “Wh—What?” He looked back up at Pacifica as he slid the money back inside. “Why would you give me this much mon— _ No,  _ wait. That's not what I should be asking.” Taking a moment to think, he started again, “Why would you even give me something for my birthday? I never asked for you to be nice to me.”

Pacifica crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her lips into a thin line. “If you don't want me to be nice to you, I could always take it back. I don't  _ have  _ to do this, you know.”

“Then  _ why  _ are you doing it?” Bill questioned, pocketing the card.

“To be fair, it isn't because I like you.” At least she was honest. “It's because I like Dipper and I know being enemies doesn't make him happy.”

Bill almost wanted to throw up at the sentimentality of what she was saying. Of  _ course  _ it was about Dipper.  _ Everything  _ was about Dipper. It was as if that damn kid was haunting him.

Instead, he laughed. “You're kidding, right?” He chose to ignore the way Hector looked at him, keeping his attention on Pacifica. “Who gives a rat's ass if it makes him happy or not?” Immediately after he clamped his mouth shut, hearing his own words. He suddenly had the urge to dig a hole and lie in it.

“Well, I mean, isn't it why  _ you're  _ being nice to  _ me?”  _ Pacifica asked, obviously choosing to ignore the statement.

“I'm  _ not  _ being nice to you. I'm just...not being as rude.”

“Sure, Bill,” Pacifica replied, and before Bill could even come up with a good reply to that, she was turning on her heels and walking away, leaving him on that note.

He slammed his fist onto the table. It wasn't until he glanced up that he remembered Hector was still there.

“What was  _ that?”  _ Hector asked, sounding amused.

“Bullshit,” Bill replied, rubbing between his eyes. “A whole lot of bullshit.”

And that was it. He couldn't remember much of what had happened next, like he couldn't seem to remember a lot of things as of late. It was like the minutes seemed to blend together and mix, and in no time at all he was in his last seminar of the day and it was over.

Everyone got up to leave; and he wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for his professor telling him to leave. Reluctantly—not quite ready for the unbearable agony that would come when he moved—he stood and exited the room, feeling light headed and more than a little disoriented.

Dipper was waiting outside for him, like he'd been doing every single day for the past few weeks. He smiled when he saw Bill, giving him a quick wave. “I see you got some balloons,” he said.

“What?” Bill asked, confused, but then he looked down—and, surprisingly enough, there were a few birthday balloons tied to his wrist.

For a second he racked his brain, trying to recall where he had gotten them from—because they definitely hadn't been there earlier—and it came to him at last; a few girls had walked up to him sometime after him after his lunch block, flirted with him a bit, and gave them to him. Or that was what he thought, anyway.

_ “Oh,”  _ he muttered, and untied them before handing them over to Dipper, who gazed at him with some unreadable expression. “I’m taking a nap when we get back to our room. Today has been a fucking  _ day.”  _ He began to start off, pushing past anyone that was in his way.

Dipper caught up with him. “But it's your  _ birthday, _ ” he said, like that wasn't obvious enough already. “I mean...today is supposed to be  _ good,  _ right?”

“Listen, kid,” Bill started, “I don't know what it was like on your birthday when you grew up, but my dad kinda tried to kill me today eleven years ago. Every year it's like I can feel his hands around my throat.”

None of what he was saying was a lie; he hated his birthday more than anything else in the world. He just wanted the date to be erased from the calendar.

Dipper didn't respond to that, to which he was grateful.  _ Good. I don't need a therapy session today, thanks. _

“Well, I mean…” Dipper trailed off, and when Bill glanced over at him he was staring down at his feet.

“What?” Bill frowned. “Don't say you got me a present. I swear to God I'll burn in right in front of you.”

Dipper shook his head—he looked hurt, so much that Bill almost felt bad for him. Almost. “Technically,” he said, “your present might already be burned.”

“What do you mean?”

“I made you a cake,” he answered. “Which, now that I look back on it, was a really bad idea, considering you don't even like cake.”

“Well, in that case, I'll just throw it in the garbage when you're not looking,” Bill told him bitterly. His lips twitched with the beginnings of a smirk, but he managed to hold it down.  _ It probably tastes like shit, anyway.  _ He spat out of one side of his mouth.

“How can you say something like that?” Dipper asked as he stopped walking. Bill rolled his eyes and stopped as well, facing him. “I'm trying to be nice to you here.”

“Yeah, whatever. Pacifica was nice to me today, too, but you don't see me acting fucking ecstatic, do you?” Bill made a finger gun and pressed it to his own head, miming the pull of the trigger. “Your goody-two-shoes shit makes me want to kill myself. Which,  _ by the way,  _ I wanted to do badly enough  _ before  _ I met you.”

Dipper furrowed his brows. “You need to stop talking like that. Say it loud enough and someone here”—he gestured with his head to the general area, being the corridor currently filled with people—“is going to wind up recommending you to a mental facility.”

“And by ‘someone' you mean you or Pyronica, right?” Bill shot back, though he lowered his voice to a point where it was a whisper-scream rather than an actual shout. “Because, for all I care, being in a mental facility sounds better than being stuck with  _ you,  _ so go ahead. Fucking recommend me, bitch.”

Dipper looked as if he wanted to say something, but he only shook his head and pushed past him, walking on ahead.

Bill stopped himself from shouting after him, saying something along the lines of “Yeah, you'd  _ better  _ walk away,” or “I could kill myself  _ right now  _ if I wasn't so damn tired.” He ran after him—not really sure of why he would  _ want  _ to, but that was probably the last thing he wanted to think about in that moment.

“Forget the cake,” Dipper said once they were outside the school's gates, well on their way to the dorms. “You can throw it out.”

Bill pursed his lips. A long moment passed when he pondered these words, and then he sighed, so damn sick of all this arguing, all this anger, of his own body—which was still refusing to cooperate with him.

“I'll try the cake,” he muttered.

Dipper looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“I said I'll  _ try the damn cake,  _ okay?” Bill snapped. “Will  _ that  _ make you happy?”

Dipper made a comment along the lines of, “What would make me happy is knowing what would make  _ you  _ happy,” but Bill barely heard it; and if he  _ had  _ heard it more clearly he would have been too tired to say anything in reply, anyway.

When they got to their room's door Bill patted his pockets, searching for his copy of the keys—but Dipper sighed and put his own keys in the door, unlocking it without a word. He held it open for Bill, who slipped inside.

“I had my keys on me,” Bill pointed out, still searching himself for them as he spoke.

“You mean the keys sitting on your dresser?” Dipper replied, and pointed. And, when Bill looked over in that direction sure as day there were his keys, lying there where he'd forgotten to grab them that morning.

Bill cursed under his breath, feeling like an idiot, and walked over so he could take off his hoodie, but not before taking out the cards first and putting them in the top drawer.  _ I'll find use for the money later,  _ he thought, as he sat down on the side of his bed and began to take his socks off as well.

When he turned back around, Dipper was gone. And he was about to get up start looking for him when Dipper came out of the kitchen, holding the cake he'd talked about. There were two candles sticking out of it, both ‘2s’ that represented Bill's age.

Dipper sat down next to him, using the cake as a kind of barrier between them, though still holding onto the plate it was on so it wouldn't wind up falling over.

“By the way,” he said as Bill handed him a lighter to light the candles with, “I'm actually not as good as baking as you are. The cake tastes kind of funny, but the frosting should be okay.”

“Whatever works, I guess.” Bill took back his lighter before moving the cake to place in his lap. It wasn't big, so it didn't weigh much—in fact, it looked only big enough to compensate for two people, which was good. That meant there was less going to waste, because Bill sure as hell wasn't going to eat an entire slice.

A few minutes passed in silence, him hunched over the cake, not doing anything, and Dipper staring at him.

Bill was about to tell Dipper to wipe that stupid look off his face when Dipper finally spoke up, saying, “I'm pretty sure this is the part where you make a wish.”

“Right,” Bill grumbled. Leaning down a little more, he blew out the candles, then took them out.

“So what did you wish for?” Dipper asked, giving him a plastic knife so he could cut the cake.

“I thought I wasn't supposed to tell you that.” Which, in retrospect, was Bill's way off avoiding the truthful response, which was,  _ “I didn't wish for anything. I just blew out the fucking candles so I could get this over with.” _

“I should've grabbed some plates,” Dipper said, and got up and ran into the kitchen before Bill could say anything. A few seconds later and he was returning with two paper plates, along with forks, in hand. He sat back down and held one out so Bill could plop a slice onto it. “Here,” he said. “You should get the first slice. I'll hold the cake.”

They switched items and Bill dug his fork into the slice, grabbing a bit, dreading the taste before it came to his lips. And, once it was in his mouth, he had to hold back the strong urge to throw it up. Instead he chewed a few times. He swallowed dryly.

Dipper's face contorted. “Yeah, not good. I figured.”

Bill forced a smile. “N—no, it's…different, is all.” He scooped up a little bit of the frosting onto his fork and tasted that next. He'd known already that the frosting was going to be fine, as Dipper had said it would be—it was really hard to ruin frosting, after all. “Like you said before, the frosting is fine.”

He had no idea why he was being nice. In fact, his entire body was screaming at him to do the exact opposite; but, for some reason that was  _ way  _ beyond him, he couldn't find the aspiration to do it.

_ I'm just tired,  _ he thought. An unexplainable shiver shot up his spine, causing a cold wave to spread throughout his entire being. He resisted wrapping his arms around himself and tried to ignore it, picking at his slice of cake and taking deep breaths to calm his nerves.

And to think the only reason he felt so terrible was because he hadn't been getting high. He snickered at this revelation, running a hand through his hair. Another reason for Hector to hurry up and find somebody already.

He didn't know how long had passed between thinking this and Dipper taking his slice away from him and going back to the kitchen yet again, but it had probably been awhile. When Dipper sat down, the mattress creaked in protest, and it wasn't until then that Bill had realize how much he  _ hated  _ that sound.

“Have you been doing alright?” Dipper asked him, capturing his attention. “I know that you haven't been...you know, but—”

“Let me stop you right there,” he cut in, peeling his eyes away and choosing to focus on a spot of carpet instead. “If you're going to start some dumb bullshit like ‘everything’s going to be alright once you get help' or ‘you don't need drugs,’ I'm going to say right here and right now that you are completely and hopelessly wrong.” 

Dipper didn't say anything, and he took it as an opportunity to continue. “I've told you plenty of times to stop acting like you understand me. Because you  _ don't.” _

At last, he looked over at Dipper—the brunet's lips were pressed into a thin line, an indication of disagreement. But Bill didn't care what he thought. “If you don't change your expression,” he said, “I'm going to smack it off.” And, with that, Dipper turned away.  _ Yeah, that's what I figured. _

“You have problems,” was all Dipper said, still not meeting his gaze.

“Oh,  _ please.”  _ Bill laughed. “Says  _ you,  _ with your perfect parents who love you and would never do anything to hurt you.” As he spoke, he stood and leaned over the dresser, his hands clenched into fists on the wooden surface. “With your perfect fucking family and your perfect fucking life. You wouldn't care about me at all if I didn't have problems.”

“That's not true.” Dipper's voice was small.

“You don't know that,” Bill said, punctuating the statement with a punch to the dresser. It hurt his fist, but he didn't care. It could break for all he cared. “I'm your charity case. The only reason you're helping me is because seeing me down so low makes you feel better about yourself.” He swallowed, his voice breaking. “I'm not just  _ broken goods.” _

“God, Bill, you don't think I know that?” Bill shook his head.  _ Stop talking.  _ But Dipper didn't stop talking, and that was the problem. “No one needs to be happy all the time. That's not mental health; that's crap. And if people  _ did  _ have it perfect, I'm pretty sure the world wouldn't be like it is.”

“Can you  _ not?” _

Dipper ignored him. “I'm trying to help you because you're my best friend and I  _ care  _ about you.” He sighed. “But lately it's started to feel a bit one-sided. It's like the only thing you care about is how you're going to wind up offing yourself.”

Bill swiveled around to face him. “You little piece of—”

“You know what, forget I said anything. Talk to me when you're ready. I’m getting in the shower.” Without another word, he slid off the bed and headed to the other side of the room. He reached into his own dresser and taking out a towel and clothes before walking to the bathroom, the bathroom closing behind him with a light slam.

Bill puffed up his cheeks with air, then released it.  _ Talk to me when you’re ready.  _ Who the hell did Dipper think he was?

Angry and not knowing what to do, Bill settled on burying his hands in his hair and pacing around in circles for a bit before he stopped, moving his hands to brace on the wall instead. Then he took a deep breath, two, and banged his head as hard as he could, causing an agonizing pain to reverberate throughout his entire skull. It hurt so bad he cried out and pulled back, rubbing his forehead and muttering a string of curses, over and over and over.

_ Talk to me when you’re ready. _

What was  _ that  _ supposed to mean? There was nothing to talk about.

Bill had started pacing around a second time when his legs suddenly gave out from under him and he collapsed, falling to the ground with a light thump. He attempted to get back onto his feet, to no avail—his body didn’t seem to want him to stand. He grunted in frustration.

The best he could do was push himself up onto his elbows and knees, and even then his muscles ached with the effort. It felt like his insides were on fire. He lowered his head, his nose almost brushing the carpet, his face and hair damp with sweat—cold sweat, coming seemingly out of nowhere.

“He’s right, you know.”

For a second, a split second, an instant, Bill remained there, confused as all hell. That wasn’t Dipper, and he definitely hadn’t said, that either.

Then recognition as fast as his sore muscles had, and he snapped his head up, his mouth open to speak words that were having trouble coming out.

His mother smiled down at him, two fingers placed upon her lips. When Bill’s gaze met hers, that familiar smile grew into something loving, motherly, and Bill wondered how something he once found comfort him could terrify him so much now.

His heart skipped a beat. He shook his head and lowered it again, turning towards the ground, not wanting to have to look at her.  _ No,  _ he thought, shifting his weight slightly onto his right side as he wiped snot from his nostrils with his left arm.  _ This isn’t real, this isn’t happening. Holy shit, she’s dead, she’s dead, she can’t be—I…I… _

His side gave weight and then he was falling a second time, his chin hitting the ground. Reluctantly, he lifted his gaze.  _ Please don’t be there,  _ he pleaded to no one in particular, to anyone, anything that might be listening.  _ Please don’t be there, please. _

She was still there, though her smile had fallen into something into something more sympathetic. She got down onto her knees to better match his level and reached out like she was going to place her hands on his shoulders, but stopped just inches of doing so.

“You’ve grown so much,” she said, and there were tears in her eyes.

_ “No,”  _ Bill whispered, and he licked his lips. When he tasted his own mucus there, he spat it out onto the ground. He screwed his eyes shut and threw an arm over his eyes. “Don’t say that. Don’t say  _ anything.  _ You’re dead, you can’t be here, you can’t speak...You’re  _ dead.”  _ And, as he said these words, it dawned upon him that it sounded as if he was trying to reassure  _ himself  _ more than her.

He couldn’t see her, but he could sense her ever-lingering smile, that smile that used to be a blessing but was now a curse, and curse that he felt would haunt him for the rest of his life. “I know,” she said, her voice soft. “I know, William, I know.”

“Then  _ why?”  _ Bill moved his arm away from his face but refused to open his eyes. “Why are you  _ here?” _

“Maybe,” she surmised, “you should be telling  _ me  _ that.”

“What do you— _ Oh.”  _ Bill, using all the strength he could muster, pushed himself upright into a sitting position, his legs splayed out lazily in front of him. Finally, he opened his eyes, but he focused on the ceiling instead of on her. He couldn’t look at her, he couldn’t—not after seeing her already dead. It was as if he was losing his mind and, as much as he hated to admit it, that was exactly what was happening.

“You’re not real,” he said, so quietly he hadn’t heard his own words. “You’re a—a figment of my imagination. A hallucination. You’re not here, you’re not here…” He sighed out, feeling reassured. “Oh, thank God you’re not here.”

“And do you know  _ why  _ you’re seeing me, William? Why you’re having this hallucination?”

“No,” Bill told her, but it wasn’t true. He wrapped his arms around his chest and threw his head forward. “No, I don’t know.”

“Now, why would you lie to me?” His mother sounded disappointed, the undertones in her words being a  _ You should know better than this.  _ “Tell me the truth, it’s okay.”

Bill began to cry before he could even think to stop himself, his chest heaving with ragged sobs and his entire body trembling with the reality of what was happening. He allowed his eyes to land upon hers at last, but vision was so blurred he couldn’t make out a clear image of her, the one he had nothing but blobs of colors.

“Y—yes,” he caved, and his words mixed with his sobs as he continued, sounding like blubbering nonsense. “I—it’s because I need drugs b—because my body relies on them n—now a—and I—”

“Shh, that’s alright, William, it’s okay. You were honest, and that’s all that matters.” And it was then that Bill longed for her to open her arms for a hug and pull him in close, closer, like she would have done in the old days, and he could breathe in her strawberry scent and know that, with her there, everything was going to be alright like she used to tell him it would all the time.

But the problem was that she  _ wasn’t  _ there, and everything wasn’t alright. She was dead—she had made sure herself that she was—and everything was so unbearably horrible and over-the-top painful that it couldn’t have been real life.

“It  _ is  _ real, though, William,” she said, like she had been reading his thoughts, which Bill didn’t find surprising. She  _ was  _ one of his thoughts, one pushed so far back that Bill had almost forgotten it was there in the first place. “I’m gone and you’re going to need to take care of yourself. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Bill shook his head despite actually knowing what she meant. He could see she wasn’t pleased with that response, causing him to attempt making a change in the conversation by asking, “What did you mean when you said ‘He’s right, you know?’ W—when you showed up.”  _ When my stupid mind made you show up. _

She leaned forward, one of her hands hovering close to his face like she wanted to touch him. But she didn’t, to Bill’s dismay, and her hand stayed there hovering in the air. “What Dipper said,” she explained, and Bill found he had already known the answer; but of course he had. “When he said that no one needs to be happy all the time.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Yes, actually,” she said, “I think you do.” Bill wiped the tears from his eyes and saw that she was frowning now, her expression grave and serious, her brows furrowed and her lips a thin line. “I need you to listen to what I tell you,” she told him after a moment, and he nodded, albeit hesitantly. “You shouldn’t leave him. You shouldn’t kill yourself.”

“What do  _ you  _ know?” Bill snapped, his body shaking with rage. “You say that like you didn’t leave  _ me.  _ You leaved me and you didn’t even say goodbye, so why should I take  _ your  _ advice?”

“Because, like you said,” she replied, “I’m a figment of your imagination, and you know from personal experience that suicide only leads to pain.” A small laugh slipped past her lips. “Don’t you see? I’m  _ you,  _ telling you that you’re trying to do the wrong thing.” Bill opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. “You’re much smarter than you realize, William. I think that’s one of the reasons why he loves you.”

Bill covered his ears and turned away from her. “Shut up, shut up, shut up…” Getting up and walking away from her, he continued.  _ “Shut up, shut up, shut up you stupid bitch…” _

At last, he turned around to see if she was still there.

She wasn’t.

Bill walked over to the bathroom and began to bang on the door which, of course, was locked, screaming Dipper’s name at the top of his lungs. When there was no response, he fell forward, his knees hitting the ground and his forehead hitting the wooden surface.

Then the sound of running water came to a halt and, after a long, long moment, the door was opening and Bill would've fallen again if it wasn’t for arms catching him at the last second.

_ “Bill.”  _ Dipper was kneeling down in front of him, wearing only an underwear and a t-shirt; because he had rushed to get out of the shower. For  _ him. _

Bill wrapped his arms around Dipper and pulled him into a hug, much like one of the hugs him mom used to give him, and began to cry into his shoulder, whispering his name over and over and over, like it was a prayer, a religion, and Dipper returned the embrace.

“It’s okay, Bill...It’s fine.”

It wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bill's reached the revelation he's needed for a while, and that's good.
> 
> Since there are only three chapters left, I'll ease your nerves by saying this: This fic will _not_ have a sad ending. But that's all I'm going to elaborate with, so don't bother asking anything else.
> 
> Next chapter Dipper takes a step forward and becomes more assertive, so let's see where that takes us. ;)


	28. Love is Impulsive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this chapter, where some progress happens. _Some._ I would've posted this on my birthday (Monday) but I have school on that day and after me and my dad are looking at cars so pffft.
> 
> Chapter warnings: suicidal dialogue, mentions of suicide

“What time is it,” Bill grumbled under his breath. Without waiting for an answer, he groaned and rolled over onto his other side, facing away from Dipper―and the sudden action, as it usually did, caused the mattress to croak.

Dipper could tell by the sound of his voice just how tired he was, which, speaking in terms of estimates, was a lot. And he felt tempted to reach out and touch Bill, comfort him in some way, but at this point he wasn’t sure what it was that would be able to help the older male. He stayed where he was, clutching the blanket close to his chest and listening to Bill’s breathing until it evened out for the umpteenth time that night and Bill drifted off—but it wouldn’t last long; he would wake up again sometime soon. This happened two or three times a night.

Bill was having nightmares, Dipper could tell, but he couldn’t tell about what. All he knew was that Bill would start to stir in his sleep, followed by constant mumbling that would soon turn to screaming, and then Bill would wake up, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. It had been this way almost every night since forcing him out of drugs, and it was so bad to the point that Dipper almost regretted it.

Almost.

Ready before Bill could wake up from yet another nightmare, Dipper leaned over him and grabbed the glass of water he’d placed on the dresser hours ago, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. The ice cubes he’d put inside to keep the water cold were starting to melt, but that was to be expected. He would have to refill it the next time Bill went to sleep.

He didn’t realize he’d begun to drift off until Bill awoke screaming a name—Dipper had found out from “Pyronica a few days ago that it was his mother’s first name—his eyes wide and glassy and his forehead shining with a fine sheen of sweat. Dipper responded immediately, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and handing him the water. Bill took it from him and downed a third of it in one shot, all before handing it back and moving to lie down.

“Are you alright?” Dipper asked him as he settled underneath the covers.

Bill seemed to be confused by the question for a second. Then he nodded and closed his eyes, muttering something to himself, something that Dipper couldn’t quite hear, before he said, “I’m fine. Thanks for the water.”

He was lying, but Dipper knew there was no purpose in arguing. Bill would just deny everything he told him as he usually would, they have an argument of sorts, and sometime after they would both sort of make up and the process would be doomed to repeat itself, over and over and over; and, quite frankly, Dipper was sick of it. He didn’t want to fight anyway. Besides, Bill could talk when he was ready.

There was no need to rush anything. Dipper was fine with waiting, and he reassured this to himself in his head as he pushed out of bed, heading into the kitchen so he could go refill the water.

He’d been taking ice cubes out of the fridge when there was the sound of footsteps behind him and he turned around, slightly surprised to see Bill standing there, looking exhausted and broken, so much so that it nearly broke his heart in two.

Bill’s shoulders were slumped and his knees wobbled as he walked, like they would give out under him at any moment, and his eyes were half-closed, as they had been on the day Dipper found him high on heroin. His pajamas were so damp with his sweat that one could have mistaken him for going swimming fully clothed.

“You don’t look well,” Dipper told him. He put the glass down on the counter and stepped forward until he was right in front of him, placing his hands on the blond’s shoulders. “Seriously, Bill, you should go to sleep.”

"Why?” Bill asked him, and it wasn’t until then that Dipper noticed his face was stained with tears—but of course. He had been crying in his sleep, too. “So I can just have another nightmare? I can’t. Not now. I’m so  _ tired,  _ Dipper.”

Dipper frowned. He knew Bill didn’t mean that in the sense that he needed sleep; he meant it in the sense that he need it to  _ stop.  _ And Dipper understood, for the most part, because he wanted it to stop just as much, if not more. It hurt to see Bill like this, so fragile and unwell.

“I know you are,” he said at last, after a long moment of considering what to do next. He breathed in and, catching the smell of body odor, bit back a gag and added, “Come on, you can at least take a shower and get changed.”

“Okay,” Bill said, and Dipper began to lead him to the bathroom. Once they were inside, they light turned on, he pushed down the lid of the toilet and sat, Dipper beginning to help him out of his clothes. “I—I can do this on my own, you know.”

Dipper blushed, pulling away and allowing him to take off his shirt on his own. “Right. Sorry. Do you want me to leave?”

Bill paused. He shook his head. “No.”

“I can sit here while you’re in the shower so you don’t have to feel alone. Is...Is that okay?”

“Yes.” Bill peeled his eyes away then, aiming them at the floor as he began to kick off his pants, making a clothes pile on the floor. When he was completely undressed, Dipper took them and threw them into the washing machine. “Thank you.” And, if it wasn’t for the fact that Dipper was half-asleep, he would have jumped at the statement.

_ Thank you.  _ Bill didn’t  _ normally  _ says things like that, did he? Either way, Dipper found himself appreciating the statement, and he smiled as he walked back over to him.

“Anytime,” he said, and Bill shot him a reluctant smile in return.

A few minutes later and Bill was in the shower. Staying true to his offer, Dipper sat on the toilet, within reach in order to keep him company. He tilted his head up and stared at the ceiling. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and thought, pleadingly,  _ Stay awake. For Bill’s sake. _

However, despite his best intentions, his eyes closed and he was out—for who knows how long, before there was a loud thud and Bill was crying out, jolting him awake. He stood up and rushed over to the shower, pulling open the curtain.

Bill was on the floor, a bottle of shampoo in his one hand, and he was sobbing, that along with the shower water and the snot coming from his nostrils running down his face. Dipper, still in all his clothes, stepped inside the tub and leaned over him, lightly tugging on his arm, urging him to sit up.

“I  _ fell,”  _ Bill cried, clinging onto his shoulders, face buried in his shirt. “I’m not  _ eighty,  _ I shouldn’t be falling!”

“It’s alright,” Dipper tried to coax him. He began to rock them both, lightly hushing him from time to time. “These things happen.” Finally, taking full notice that his clothes were soaked to his skin, he reached over with one arm, the other still wound tightly around Bill, and turned off the water.

Bill sniffed. “S—sorry,” he said, and he sounded like he meant. “I—I’m the reason you’re all wet.”

Dipper shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll change in a minute.” He moved one of his hands to cup Bill’s face, asking, “What about you, though? How are you holding up?”

To his surprise, this only made Bill break down into another sob, and he cursed himself for being such an idiot.

But all Bill said was, “I—I’m lying in a freaking  _ bathtub... _ The p—place my dad tried to k—kill me. I want to get o—out  _ now.” _

“We’re going to leave right now, okay?” Dipper asked, and it wasn’t until when Bill nodded through pained sobs that he began to help Bill out of the tub, handing him a towel and fresh pajamas before heading over to the dryer. He pulled out some of his own clothes from the wash he’d done that morning, blushing as he dressed himself—because Bill was  _ right there.  _ But Bill didn’t say anything and he chose not to, either, a few minutes passing by in a silence that was surprisingly serene.

Once they were both finished Bill wrapped an arm around Bill’s shoulders and walked him out into the main room. Bill was the first one to collapse onto the bed, his half-lidded eyes fluttering. If it wasn’t for the fact that Dipper knew it was due to the heroin, he would’ve thought Bill was trying to flirt with him...or something like that, anyway.

Bill threw one of his arms over his face and let out a shaky laugh, the sound hoarse and cracked. Then he was quiet for a long time, and Dipper was getting onto the bed next to him when he asked, at last, “Can I have some more water?”

“Sure.” Dipper let out a breath of frustration but complied nonetheless, pushing himself back onto his feet and heading into the kitchen. The cup he’d placed on the counter earlier was still there, and he picked it up and put some more water and ice in it before returning to the main room. He handed it to Bill, who was sitting up and had been waiting for him.

Bill downed the majority of the glass in one gulp, and, when he lowered it to rest between his legs, he let out a string of coughs—coughs that sounded wet and congested, like he had a cold. Without saying a word, he rubbed at his temple and leaned back against the headboard, his head hitting the wood with a heavy thunk. Dipper cringed at the sound—there was no way that could possibly be painless—but Bill seemed to be undeterred.

Bill’s eyes fell on Dipper after a moment, and he said, “Come here.” Dipper turned red down to his Adam’s apple, but did so, and sat down next to him.

Bill leaned his head on his shoulder and sniffed; and Dipper would've told him how unsanitary that was and offer to get him a tissue if it wasn't for him speaking. “I don't know how we're supposed to do this.”

“Do what?” Dipper asked, shifting slightly so they were a bit more comfortable.

“How we're supposed to work together and be friends and act like everything's okay,” Bill elaborated, moving his head as Dipper did, his nose brushing the younger male's neck now, breath warm against the juncture between neck and shoulder. “Because nothing's okay and I'm messed up and we can never get along.”

Dipper folded his hands on his lap and furrowed his brows as he considered those words. They were true, of course, all of it. And the sad truth of the matter was that he  _ wasn't  _ sure how they were supposed to work together. It was an answer he wished that he had but simply...didn't, and realizing this made something in his stomach twist, made his heart skip a beat.

At last, all he could think to respond was, “I'm not sure. Things aren't that easy.”

Bill made a sound deep in his throat, like he was going to start crying again, but instead he let out what sounded like something between a sigh and a chuckle. And then, after a few seconds, probably time he took to consider what to say next, he muttered, “I wish they were.”

_ Me, too,  _ Dipper thought, subconsciously reaching over and taking one of Bill's hands in his own, squeezing it. He expected some kind of protest, for Bill to pull his hand and to tell him to stop being stupid. However, what happened was the gesture being returned, Bill squeezing back, if not harder.

“Is...Is it possible, at this point? For me to get fixed? I'm not too far gone?"

“Considering you can acknowledge that you're heading down the wrong road,” Dipper replied carefully, “I think it is possible.”

“I need heroin,” Bill said, so suddenly that it threw Dipper for a loop. His voice was low and desperate, and he squeezed Dipper's harder, so hard that it was starting to hurt. “I need it  _ so bad.” _

“God, Bill,” Dipper breathed in reply. “God,  _ no.”  _ And, once he said it, he wished he had been able to say something else, something better, something that would at least help Bill feel a  _ little  _ better. Bile burned in his throat.

Bill loosened his grip and raised his head, enough so that his nose was now against Dipper's jaw, his lips parted into an ‘o' shape. “I wish you hadn't told me that you love me.”

There it was. Another cruel reminder. Dipper closed his eyes, a shiver shooting up his spine at how close Bill was—but he was quick to shake it off, telling himself that this wasn't about him. This was about  _ Bill.  _ This was about helping  _ Bill. _

He wished he hadn't said it, either. He couldn't possibly imagine how that must make Bill feel, so confused and sad and angry and not knowing what to do because everything was different now and figuring about whether that change was good or bad was the hardest past...Not to mention that Bill was going through withdrawal, his entire body working against, telling him he would die without the very thing that was killing him in the first place…

Dipper didn't know what pushed him to say, but before he could even think to stop himself he asked, “What did it feel like when you were high?”

Lips were being pressed against a spot just under his ear and Bill was saying, “Like I was flying.” Then he was continuing before Dipper could stop him, his voice growing more and more wistful as he went on, like he was recalling upon a particularly pleasant memory...which, in a way, he actually was. “It was like everything I was worrying about just...went away, and all that was left was an unexplainable happiness, so sudden and so great that I would wonder why I was ever worrying about anything to begin with. It's like seeing the world in a whole new light…” And he trailed off, and when he pressed on again he sounded sad. “And then—”

“It goes away,” Dipper finished for him. “The high goes away, and everything—all the bad stuff—comes back again.”

Bill nodded. “It comes back,” he agreed. “Worse. It comes back worse. You come out feeling twice as bad than before you started, and you want it again. You want it again. So you do anything and everything in your power to try to get it back, because without it you're just…nothing. A shell. You don't even feel like a human being anymore.”

“Is that...is that how you feel? Like you're nothing?”

“I've always felt like nothing,” Bill said without hesitation. “The feeling of knowing you're good for nothing is nothing new to me.”

Despite the warmth that Bill brung, Dipper pulled away, enough so that he could look Bill in eye. The blond looked as if he wanted to reach out for him, but didn't, and Dipper took the opportunity to say, “You're not nothing.”

“You flatter me.”

“I  _ mean it,”  _ Dipper insisted, frustrated. “Bill. You—are—not—nothing.” He punctuated each word with a punch to the mattress. “Don't say that anything like that again. Don't talk about drugs again, or how great they make you feel, because I don't want to hear it. All I want is for you to tell me what's wrong.”

Bill turned his face away, crossing his arms over his chest. “There's nothing to talk about.”

“But there  _ is.” _

Bill shook his head.

"Bill.”

“Please stop talking.”

_ “Bill.” _

Nothing.

Dipper groaned. “I'm not saying you have to talk to me  _ right now—” _

“Good. Because I  _ don't  _ want to talk to you right now.”

“But  _ why?” _

Bill buried his hands in his hair and leaned forward, as if he had just taken a hit to the stomach. He bit on his bottom lip for a moment, then released it and said, “Because of  _ you.” _

“What about me?”

Once again, nothing. Of course.

“Bill.  _ What about me?”  _ Dipper scooted closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, but he flinched away. “What is it? What did I do that makes you not want to talk to me? Why—”

_ “Stop talking!”  _ Bill screamed, and Dipper did, hand falling down and hitting the sheets with no resistance.

Bill breathed in, then out, heavy and deep. He lowered his hands from his hair and, when he turned to face Dipper, the brunet could see that he had started crying again.

“Y—you…” Bill lowered his head. “You took a piece of me, and I  _ let  _ you.”

He raised a fist and it met the headboard. A loud slam. He held his hand close to his chest, obviously having hurt it. “You just came into my life and you acted like you cared and I let my guard down and now I'm fucking  _ screwed  _ because I've never been in a position like this before and I feel so  _ weak.  _ And it's all  _ your fault,  _ because you're trying to make me feel safe and I...can't. I can't do that. I've never been safe in my life and I can't just start…” He grunted. “Forget I said anything. You don't get it, anyway.”

“I'm sorry,” Dipper told him. “I shouldn't have told you that I...you know,” he settled, when he noticed Bill's face contort in pain. “But I said it for a reason. I mean, I might not really understand what that reason is right now, but—”

“Nobody's ever told me that before.” Bill's voice was small. He sounded so much more human. “I've slept with how many people and nobody's ever told me that before. You can't just tell people things like that.”

“I know. I wasn't thinking.”

Bill shook his head; he didn’t seem to be listening to Dipper at this point. “And it's like...What do you expect me to say at this point? What do you want me to  _ say?” _

Dipper pressed his lips into a thin line. The answer to that question remained unsaid, hanging heavy in the air.

When he'd said it, honestly, he hadn't been expecting Bill to run away. He'd been expecting...something else. For Bill to  _ say  _ something back, to reciprocate…

But that was an unrealistic thought, Dipper knew that. He didn't know what had come over him then, but he made a promise to himself, right there, that he would never try to hurt Bill like that again, because it wasn't right, and it was hardly fair. Bill deserved better than that.

“You can't just take it back.”

“I know.”

And that was it, Bill moved to lie down, rolling onto his side so he facing away from Dipper. He said nothing, and when it became apparent he wasn't going to speak anymore Dipper knew it was the end of the discussion. He moved under the covers, as well, and was about to close his eyes, ready for a restless sleep, when Bill finally  _ did  _ speak.

“I was talking to my dead mother.”

“What?” Dipper shot up a bit, but then relaxed, knowing that freaking out wasn't going to help anything. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “When? How?”

“On my birthday. And it wasn't  _ really  _ her. It was just a hallucination.” Bill sounded distant. “God, I'm so glad it wasn't actually her.”

Dipper swallowed. “Why is that?”

“Because I still haven't forgiven her.” Dipper said nothing and allowed him to continue. “I don't think I'm ever going to forgive her. She told me I was good enough for her, she told me that I made her happy…but all of that was a lie. She didn't mean any of it, because if I actually  _ did  _ make her happy she would still be here right now. She wouldn't have picked up that damn gun. And all I want to know is  _ why?  _ Why did she do it? I wish I could find out why, because all I want is a  _ reason.  _ Just one. Damn. Reason.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Whatever.”

“No, not whatever.” Dipper rolled onto his other time to face him, though he could only see Bill's back. “I'm  _ sorry.  _ About your dad being shitty. About your mom killing herself. About your dad dying. About your baby…”

Bill stiffened. He'd hit a sore spot—but it was a bit late to turn back now.

“I...I'd want her to be a girl,” Bill said. “My baby. I'd name her after my mom and she'd be...great. I would be a good father and I would never do anything to hurt her...I would treat her like a fucking  _ princess  _ because I'd know she'd deserve nothing less. And...and when she grows up, I don't know, maybe she would have been, like, a vet, a surgeon, an actress. Maybe even the freaking  _ president  _ for all I know. But she—I mean, the baby—could've been  _ something.” _

“But you're an addict,” Dipper said quietly. “You would have hurt her, you know. E—even it wasn't intentional, you would have hurt her.”

Bill body shook as he sobbed, and Dipper moved closer so he could hug him from behind. “N—no I wouldn't have. I would have  _ taken care _ of her, I would have loved her, I would've been better than my dad, I would've...I would've…”

“Shh,” Dipper whispered, pressing his face into Bill's back, which was already drenched in sweat again. He didn't mind, though. “I know. I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. You would have made a  _ great  _ dad.”

It took him hours to calm Bill down.

* * *

 

When Dipper woke up—when had he fallen asleep in the first place? He couldn't quite remember, last night was such a blur—the spot on the bed next to him was empty, and there was the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen.

He sighed out, relieved to at least know where Bill was this time, and sat up. He stretched his arms over his head in an arch, and stayed this way until he heard a pleasant crack before he lowered them and swept his legs over the side of the bed, letting his toes dig into the carpet.

He remained there for a few moments and got up, heading to the kitchen, rubbing his arms.

Bill was sitting on the counter next to the stove, his hands folded together in his lap and his head lowered, gazed fixated at the tiled floor.

“Bacon?” Dipper guessed as he walked in. His hands dropped down to his sides.

Bill shook his head without peeling his gaze away from the floor. “No,” he said. “It's plain old ham. But it comes from the same animal, so I guess it's all the same.” He sighed. “Do you want some?”

“I'll...stick with, like, cereal or something,” Dipper said, quickly, and began to open one of the cabinets to take out a box.

“Whatever.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dipper saw Bill push off the counter and poke at the ham—which was frying on the stove—with a spatula, his lips pulled into a tight thin line.

_ I should say something,  _ Dipper thought as he poured himself a bowl of artificial flavors. Then he opened his mouth, ready to speak, but shut it when he realized he didn't know what to say; not after what had happened the night prior. He opened the fridge and grabbed the milk.

By now Bill had turned off the stove and was putting the ham on a plate—and before Dipper could even process it he was walking out the kitchen, meeting his eyes, but only briefly, for nothing more than a split second. An instant. And Dipper slammed the milk carton down on the counter, mentally cursing himself for not having the guts to speak.

Putting the cereal back in the fridge (without having poured it into his bowl beforehand), he left his would-be breakfast on the counter and followed Bill out into the main room.

Bill picked at the ham with a fork, looking to be disgusting by it.

“Um…” Dipper bit down on his bottom lip, leaning his side against the wall. “So, um…”

“Nothing happened last night,” Bill said, still not looking at him. Finally, he cut a piece of the ham and popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, then swallowed, the action forced. His face was green, like he was about to vomit. “Listen,” he added. “How’s about we just...never talk about anything mildly serious again? That would make both of our lives easier.”

“You can't just run away from your problems,” Dipper told him.

Bill grinned. “What was that about the weather?”

_ “Bill.” _

Bill didn't say anything in response, instead getting up and walking over to the other side of the bed, sitting down with his back to the younger male.

“I know you're upset. But I want you to know I really  _ am  _ sorry about what happened and I—”

“—Won’t let it happen again,” Bill finished, tensing. “Yeah, I _know._ Don't you think I've heard this before? Just forget it, okay? I forgive you. There. Does _that_ make you happy?”

“No.”

A shrug. “Can't help ‘em all.”

“Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“Well, I'd say it sure it better than taking it seriously.” And, with that, Dipper started to move closer.  _ “Don't.  _ Take another step.” Dipper stopped, not sure how he would have seen that, but relented nonetheless. “Great. Now I want you to turn around and go back into the kitchen, because I don't want to put up with you right now.”

_ “You  _ don't want to put up with  _ me?”  _ Dipper echoed, and actually laughed out loud at the statement, though not entirely sure why. He threw his arms behind his head. “I'm pretty sure it's the other way around. Because  _ I  _ have to put up with  _ you.  _ All I want to do is talk to you and you just—You're acting like a freaking  _ child,”  _ he groaned. “At least  _ try  _ to act like an adult. What are you, twenty-two?”

“Don't say that like you know me,” Bill replied. The words were spat out vehemently, and Dipper could see his hands clench into fists. “You don't  _ know  _ me. You think you do, but you don't, so give up already. I don't care about what you want, talking about ‘feelings' and ‘hope for the future,’ because I've had enough of  _ that  _ for one lifetime.”

Dipper took another step forward; which, to his relief, Bill didn't notice—and, if he  _ did  _ notice it, he didn't make an indication of such.

“But I know  _ enough  _ about you,” he insisted, and now Bill  _ did  _ react, a growl reverberating somewhere deep in his throat. “I know that you used to be really, really happy, but then your world fell apart and you aren't anymore because nothing is the same as how it used to be. You don't like change, so you tried to run away from it...You got high to forget about it.”

Bill began to shake, but whether that meant he was going to cry or he was simply angry Dipper couldn't tell, and he pressed on, despite it. “But you can't run away from it, because there's no going back. And your mom killed herself—”

“Do  _ not  _ talk about my mother.”

“—and, because of that,” Dipper continued, undeterred, “you keep telling yourself and everyone else that  _ you  _ want to kill yourself. Which you might really want, but I don't think so. I think you know that it would make other people sad.”

The older male let out a strangled breath. “Stop taking.”

_ “I'd  _ be sad if you killed yourself, so...Don't talk about that kind of stuff anymore, please.”

“What makes you believe that I care about what you think?” Bill asked, but his voice was shaky, a dead giveaway of his hesitation.

“Because I  _ do  _ know you.”

Bill shook his head. “Stop. Talking.”

“No,” Dipper said, “I'm not going to stop talking.” This branded a loud sob from his roommate, and he wanted to badly to walk over to him and sit next to him and hold him close...but that wouldn't be fair. Not right now. He restrained himself. “Bill...You're literally the most difficult person I've ever met.” And another laugh escaped his lips at that, a tear rolling down one side of his face. “You're stubborn and impossible and you always treat other people like garbage, and sometimes I wonder why I'm even your friend.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better or something? Because it  _ doesn't.” _

Dipper dropped his arms and settled on curling his fingers together instead, staring at them as he pressed on still, saying what he'd been wanting to say for long but for some reason had been too scared to actually speak of. “I'm not finished yet. You're stubborn and impossible and an asshole and…” He took a deep breath, then two. “...and I'm in love with you.”

Bill shot up and turned around to face him. His eyes were red and puffy from crying and he curled his hands into fists, uncurled them, curled them again, like he couldn't decide whether to punch him or not. “You told me you wouldn't say it again.”

“I know, but it's true.”

Bill walked up to him until they were standing only a few inches apart, raising one of his fists, ready for the hit. Then he cried out and lowered it, breaking down into sobs and collapsing unto his knees, grabbing Dipper's legs and gripping them so tight it hurt.  _ “Dipper.” _

“Bill,” Dipper returned, leaning down a bit so he could pull him back on his feet. Once he was standing, Dipper lowered his hands down and tigetened them around Bill's own. “I know it hurts, but you can't keep running...You can't hide forever. Do you understand?”

The older nodded, albeit hesitantly, through tears.

“We don't have to talk about things right now,” Dipper told him, knowing this wasn't the first time he'd said it but feeling it needed to be repeated. “When you're ready, okay?”

Bill leaned forward and pushed their foreheads together, crying harder now; but at least he wasn't yelling, wasn't denying the truth...Dipper almost smiled, but managed to hold it back.

Then Bill's eyes were meeting his, up close and personal, and Dipper felt Bill grasp either one of his arms, holding him in place. And, not giving the younger a chance to react, he closed the distance between them.

Dipper pulled back, breathless. “Bill,  _ no. _ You don't have to do it because I said—”

“Please,” Bill interrupted, sniffling. “Dipper,  _ please.  _ Please, just this once. Just today.” He dropped his voice, so quiet it was almost inaudible.  _ “Please.” _

Dipper would have said no to that, as well, if it wasn't for Bill being so close to him, nails digging into the skin on his arms, holding on like his life depended on it, warm breath brushing against his face, his lips…

“Okay,” Dipper whispered; and when Bill leaned forward to press their lips together a second time, he didn't protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of you aren't going to like the ending to the next chapter, and, honestly, I don't, either. But it's realistic and I'm not going to settle for anything less.
> 
> Side note: Ah, jeez, I messed up. Everyone thinks this fic is going to have a _happy_ ending now. I'd hate to burst your bubble, but the ending to this fic isn't going to be fairy tale happy, either. And I feel the need to say that _love is **not** a cure for depression._
> 
> See you guys next time around. <33


	29. Love is Merciless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right.
> 
> Chapter warnings: self harm

“So how do I look?” Bill asked, spinning around in his gown—the black gown he would be wearing during his graduation, which was only about a week away now—so Pyronica could see him from behind. “Because I'm burning this when I'm done with it.”

Pyronica was quiet for an abnormally long time; and, finally, after what felt like forever, she said, “Well, it doesn't show any ass. I like it.”

“Of  _ course  _ it doesn't show any ass, you dirty bitch,” Bill replied, turning again and facing her. She was frowning, but her eyes danced with mischief. “Honestly, I just want to get this over with as soon as possible.”

“I don't,” Pyronica replied, and then a grin spread across her lips, so large and bright it nearly touched her ears. “It's our  _ college graduation,  _ William! Why aren't you excited?”

“Well,” the male replied, leaning one of his arms on the other, fingers brushing his chin as he pretended to consider his response, “maybe it had something to do with that fact that, once I'm out of this place, I have no job, nowhere to go,  _ plus  _ the little, insignificant detail that, even if I  _ do  _ figure things out, I'm going to also be drowning in student debt for the rest of my life.”

“You're such a buzz kill,” Pyronica told him matter-of-factly, twirling around in her own gown. She laughed. “I've never been so happy, ever. I feel like a little girl again.”

“Why is that?”

She hummed. “You know, you could always come to New York with me. I'm renting an apartment out there, anyway, and I'm pretty sure I'd lose my mind if I was alone.”

Bill frowned. “New York is all the way across the country,” he said, silently, though that was obvious. He'd known that she was leaving already, that much was true, but the idea of  _ himself  _ returning there made his blood chill.

“So what? Being in new places is always nice.”

Bill took a few minutes to weigh his options. Sure, he didn't have anywhere to go otherwise, and he had no money; but, on the other hand, this was  _ Pyronica.  _ Being around her was hard enough on its own.  _ Living  _ with her, now that was a whole different concept entirely. Besides…

“Isn't it too late to get another plane ticket, though?” he asked, pushing up and sitting on the surface of the kitchen counter. He folded his hands in his lap. “Because don't you leave, like, right after—”

“To be fair,” Pyronica cut in, her happy grin going away and her arms falling and hanging at her sides, “I already have two plane tickets. I had planned on you coming with me a long time ago.” Then her cheer returned and she pressed a finger to her head, adding, “Did you really think I was just going to leave you here to suffer?”

“Wait, wait.” Bill furrowed his brows and leaned forward. It took him a few seconds to realize what was being said to him, and once it dawned upon him what it was that she was saying, he gave her an odd look. “What you're telling me is that, without asking me for my permission first, you got me a plane ticket to go to New York with you? What if you hadn't told me anything about it until graduation day? What, tell me, could have made you  _ believe  _ I would agree to tag along?”

Pyronica shrugged. “Because you know I love you and I know what's best for you, I guess, so you'd know there's no point in arguing.” Her expression turned serious. “Seriously, though, you have no idea how much money I had to scavenge to help you out here, so you'd better fucking tag along.”

Bill sighed. “Of course I am.”

“Good! Then there's no problem.” Pyronica turned away from him and walked off into the main room.

There were in her dorm, considering he'd gone to see how she was holding up first; not to mention that his roommate was busy getting his things packed to get ready to head back to California. Bill didn't want graduation preparation to get in the way of that.

“Do you know when he's leaving, anyway?” Pyronica's voice sounded from the main room, as if reading his mind. A second later and she slipped back into the kitchen, holding something small—she was concealing it in her hands, trying to hide it from him. “What state is he from? I don't think he ever told me.”

“California,” Bill said, though that was the least of his concern at the moment. He eyed whatever it was that Pyronica was holding. “What is that?”

Pyronica ignored the second part. “California, huh? That's cool. I’ve heard that they have nice beaches.”

“Py, what are you holding?”

“Okay, okay, yeesh. Calm down. It's for you. Think of it as a late birthday present. A  _ really  _ late birthday present, but I digress.” She stepped forward until she was right in front of him and unfolded her hands, revealing...revealing…

A case. For glasses.

“I heard that your old ones broke, so I did some digging around until I found out what your prescription is and then ordered a pair for fifty bucks online... _ Ta-da.”  _ She grinned and held it out for Bill to take. He did, and reluctantly opened the case, staring at the eyeglasses for a while before she said, “Go ahead, put them on.”

“Thanks,” Bill muttered, and pushed them up his nose. Instantly, as he had when Dipper had him first put on his old ones, the world seemed to magically become a thousand times clearer. He noticed Pyronica staring at him with a stupid expression, so he settled on asking, “How do I look  _ now?” _

“Better. So much better.” Pyronica pressed the palms of her hands together and she teared up like she was about to cry. “Holy shit, William, you look so good with glasses.”

_ You’re not the only one who thinks that,  _ Bill thought. Then he grumbled a curse under his breath and shook his head, banishing that thought.

But, as usual, Pyronica seemed to see right through him. She lowered her hands from her face and a frown pulled at the corners of her lips. “You know, even  _ if _ you're going to live far away from him…”

“It doesn't even matter,” Bill dismissed. “He's not my boyfriend. I don't want a relationship.”

“Really? Even after all the shit you've pulled and how much he puts up with you, you're not even dating him?”

“What did you  _ expect,  _ Py? I don't do relationships or talking about stupid feelings. It's like being tied down.”

Pyronica sighed. “But you do love him.”

"Now, I wouldn't go  _ that  _ far…” Bill trailed off and ran a shaky hand through his locks. “You say that like it makes a difference.”

"You—” Pyronica stopped short, her expression incredulous. She let out air through her nose. “Of  _ course  _ it makes a difference, moron. Regardless of whether you like talking about feelings or not, it’s kind of a necessity. If you don’t tell him you’re probably going to hate yourself afterwards.  _ God,  _ I feel like I’m in a television show right now,” she added, and laughed. “But that’s besides the point. How long have you known that you...you know…” She waved one of her hands in an impatient gesture.

“I never said that I... _ that... _ him,” Bill pointed out. “You’re crossing all kinds of lines that, honestly, don’t need to be crossed.” And, with the look Pyronica gave him, he could tell that she was skeptical. “Listen, why do you care so much about this? It’s none of your business, anyway. I can handle this on my own.”

Pyronica rubbed her chin. “You should tell him, like, yesterday.” Then she smacked him over the head.  _ “Tell him.” _

Bill rubbed the spot that had been hit. “No.”

“Today. Tell him today.”

“He’s out doing things today.”

“Well, he’s gonna come back so he can sleep tonight, right?” Hesitantly, Bill nodded. “Then tell him when he gets back later. Problem solved.”

Bill shook his head. “No, not today. Just give me some time.”

“But that’s the problem, William!” Pyronica countered, her voice rising to a shout. She turned her head, like she was expecting someone to have heard that (but that wasn’t possible, because her roommate was out doing God knows what), but, after a second, faced him again. She was back to normal volume when she continued, “We leave in a week. You need to tell him before graduation. And don’t hold it off until last minute, either, or tell him in, like, a text or some shit. Face-to-face.”

“What if I don’t?” Bill challenged, a sly grin spreading over one corner of his lips. He leaned forward until his face was only a few inches away from hers. “You’re not in charge of what I’m supposed to do with my life, you know.”

"I know.” Pyronica returned the look with one equally as smug, if not more. “But, deny it as you might, you basically just told me that you love him, so who’s the victorious one in this argument?”

Bill moved away. “Fuck you.”

“Joke’s on you, because I actually have before.”

* * *

 

When Dipper got back to his dorm, the door was slightly ajar and light was spilling from the inside was spilling out into the already lit hall. Confused—though, truthfully, he should be used to this kind of thing with Bill by now—he braced his hands on the door and peeked inside so just his head was in, scoping out the scene.

Surprisingly, there was no disaster, no horrible situation he needed to find a solution to. Bill was standing in front of the window, his back to the younger male, looking outside. The entire scene seemed strangely serene, so much that Dipper felt tempted to leave him alone; but he pushed on inside, anyway, putting his bag down near his bed and shrugging his sweater off his shoulders—the weather was getting warmer, though, so he doubted he would need to wear it starting in a few weeks.

Bill didn’t turn around to greet him, say hello or anything. Instead he simply continued to stand there near the window, staring out the window, not acknowledging Dipper’s existence whatsoever. He didn’t even look up when Dipper began to walk closer, crossing the room to greet him.

“Hey,” Dipper said, and Bill flinched, like he’d just been threatened. “What’s wrong?”

And Dipper reached out to plant a hand on his shoulder, but the older male moved away, still not turning to look at him, shaking his head wildly. “Go. Away.” It seemed as if he was trying to sound threatening, but the words came out shaky and quiet. “I don’t want you here. Not now, not now…”

“At least tell me what’s wrong first before kicking me out,” Dipper countered, irritation stirring in his gut, and he stepped around until he was standing in front of him.  _ “Oh.” _

Bill was quick to hold his arms defensively against his chest, but it was too late because Dipper had already seen it—the drying blood that caked his wrists and halfway up both his arms, as well as the blood that was also under his nails. It took a moment or so for Dipper to piece those two things together, picking up on the full picture.

He grabbed both Bill’s arms in one swift, fluid motion—which, of course, didn’t go without it’s protests from the other male, who began to sob loudly—and examined the newly made wounds on them, his expression being one of pure shock, then a certain level of fear, all before settling on anger.

“Bill,” he said, slowly, and gripped BIll’s hands tight in order to stop him from pulling away, “why would you do this to yourself.”

“I’m  _ sorry.” _

He dug his thumbs into Bill’s palms. “If you were sorry,  _ actually  _ sorry, you would have stopped with all of this a long time ago.” And, with a groan, he released Bill and settled on running a hand down his face. “I...I thought we were  _ past  _ this.”

Now Bill was on edge, bristling. “No,  _ you  _ were past all this, because  _ you  _ think everything is all sunshine and rainbows and happiness, and  _ guess fucking what.”  _ He spun around and kicked the wall with his knees, the sudden speed and force of the action cause his body to shake in the aftermath, but he didn’t seem to care. He turned on Dipper again. “It’s  _ not.  _ Because  _ bad things  _ happen in  _ real  _ life.”

“Bill, you need to calm do—”

“No,  _ you  _ need to calm down!” Bill shouted, throwing his arms in the air. Then he stepped forward until he was right in front of Dipper; and, grasping the hem of his shirt so hard that the younger male’s feet almost lifted up and off the ground, he spat, “You need to just leave me alone! I never asked for you to  _ help me.  _ I never asked for you  _ be my roommate.  _ I never asked for you to  _ love me.  _ Just  _ get out of my life.  _ So what I do drugs, so what if I like drinking? It’s  _ my  _ damn decision, I’m a  _ grown fucking man.” _

“Put me down,” Dipper told him simply, and Bill did, releasing his shirt and lowering him down onto his feet carefully—which Dipper almost laughed at, because the kind action so greatly contradicted the fact that he’d just been screaming in his face.

Bill braced his arms on the windowsill and began to mutter a string of curses under his breath, the odd part being that they didn’t seem to be directed at Dipper, but at  _ himself.  _ He stayed that way for a moment, and then he said, his voice bordering on a yell, “You act like  _ you  _ know what  _ I  _ want.” Angry tears spilled down his cheeks and he wiped them away with his sleeve. “When, in reality, you have  _ no idea _ what I want!”

Dipper sighed. “Fine, Bill, let’s play it your way.” He waited a second, proceeding with, “What  _ do  _ you want?”

_ “I don’t know.” _

“Well, you have to want something!” Dipper said, his voice rising, too. “Just tell me and I’ll leave you alone, okay? I  _ promise _ I’ll leave you alone. Just tell me what you want.”

Bill slammed his fist against the wall, his breaths deep and heavy. After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, Dipper felt he wasn’t going to respond and was about to turn to leave when suddenly Bill grasped him by his arm and kissed him. Hard.

Dipper froze in place for a moment, in shock, but once the realization of what was happening dawned upon him he instinctively threw his free arm around and pulled Bill down, deepening the kiss.

And, when they broke apart for air, Bill let go of Dipper’s other arm and turned away, wiping his mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbled after a long time, swiveling around to look at Dipper again. “I’m a fucking idiot, I know.”

Dipper’s eyes widened. “Wha—No, no, no, it’s fine, really,” he managed, holding his hands up in defense. Then he found he couldn’t meet Bill’s eyes, forcing him to direct his gaze to the ground. “I—I don’t mind that kind of thing. I, uh, it’s nice, actually.” He blushed, dropping his hands down to his sides.  _ “Yeah,  _ I might be an idiot, too.”

“Fair enough,” Bill said, and stepped forward. Gently, he grabbed Dipper’s chin between his thumb and index finger, then leaned down and kissed him again—and this time it was softer, full of feeling, and Dipper reciprocated easily, eyes sliding shut.

Bill pulled away first, leaving just enough space for warm air to slip between them, sighing out, his hands planting themselves on Dipper’s chest. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” he said at last, and Dipper felt relieved, knowing  _ that  _ was the truth.

“That’s alright,” Dipper told him, and he shook his head in response. “It  _ is.  _ You don’t have to be sure of everything all the time.”

“I’m going to New York with Py.”

_ “Oh.”  _ The younger of the two swallowed, surprised by both the reality of the news and what it was that the news meant. “You’re going…”  _ To the other side of the country.  _ “...I hear it’s nice there.”

“Most of the people aren’t,” Bill replied as he bumped their foreheads together, a small smile spreading over one corner of his lips as he laughed; and, apparently, it was contagious, because Dipper began to laugh, as well, still a little shaken by the sight of blood on Bill’s arms—and then it hit him.

He took a step backwards, away from Bill, and grabbed his wrists, examining the drying blood. “We need to get you cleaned up,” he said urgently, mentally hating himself for not remembering that earlier. He dragged Bill along, and the older male didn’t protest.

Once they were in the bathroom, Dipper had him sit on the toilet while he looked through the medicine cabinet above the sink for the first aid kit. When he found it, he took it out and closed the cabinet, opening it as he headed back over to Bill, who had his head tilted upwards and was staring at the ceiling.

Dipper kneeled down in front of him to better match their heights as he dug around in the kit for antiseptic wipes, then bandages. He used the wiped first, applying them to the wounds on Bill’s arms. When the blood was wiped away, he took the bandages and began to roll them around each of Bill’s arms, one at a time, until the wounds on both of them were completely covered. Bill watched him as he worked silently.

After he was done, he stuffed the supplies back in the kit and returned it to the cabinet, an uncomfortable silence snaking its way between them. Bill examined the bandages on his arms, feigning an interest in them.

“At least my gown will cover this,” the blond muttered, breaking the silence at long last, and Dipper let out let a long, deep breath through his nose and he walked over to him.

“You know,” he said, “I haven’t seen you in your graduation attire yet.”

“Yeah…” Bill said in response, but trailed off before continuing on with anything else. Then his lips pursed and he asked, “Wait. Are you trying to flirt with me?”

Dipper ran a hand through his curls and laughed a little uncertainly. “Uh, yeah...maybe.” He swallowed. “Is...is that a bad thing?”

“I mean, it’s  _ kinda  _ hot,” Bill replied, and Dipper blushed, “and I’m flattered, but no thanks.” Which, of course, caused Dipper’s semi-good mood to disappear as fast as it had come. “If you’re expecting a relationship from me—as in, a happy, healthy one—then I can’t offer you that. I’m sorry.”

Dipper pondered over those words for a few seconds, replaying them over and over. Relatively speaking, he  _ had  _ sort of known beforehand that Bill wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship, but that should have been obvious. He didn’t seem like he would be...good at that. But it also made sense, because everything that happened between his mom and dad…

Bill didn’t want one because he was scared of being left.

With this realization in mind, he suddenly felt a great urge to say something completely over-the-top and cheesy, like  _ “I would never leave you,”  _ or  _ “Not all relationships end like your parents’ did,”  _ but he knew he shouldn’t meddle. That was for Bill to figure out in his own time.

Besides, the “I would never leave you” promise was an empty one. Technically, they would be leaving  _ each other  _ a week from now, heading to opposite sides of the country. He wasn’t even sure if they were ever going to see each other again.

Quickly, he shook that last thought away. No, he didn’t want to have to worry about that right now.

He didn’t notice that Bill was staring at him until now, and suddenly he felt self-conscious; and he would have tried to say something funny to avoid the awkwardness between them, but then he realized something.

“You’re wearing glasses,” he whispered, feeling stupid. How had he not seen those before?

Bill pushed them up his nose and shrugged. His eyes looked big and innocent behind the lenses. “Py got them for me.”

“Well, you look really good in them,” Dipper said, and he meant it; but Bill only rolled his eyes as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“You said that the first time.”

“I know.”

Bill pressed his lips into a thin line and turned his face away, like he was thinking about something. A moment later and he turned back to Dipper and started, “There’s something else...I need to tell you..”

Dipper raised a brow. “Yeah?”

Another bout of silence, Bill staring down at his bandaged arms and Dipper waiting, waiting in anticipation.

Finally, Bill said, without glancing up, “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

* * *

 

The last week of classes passed by faster than Dipper thought they would, the majority of that time spent either in classes or the library doing some last-minute studying for finals and actual doing said finals. By the last day of classes Dipper was drained of all energy, but was glad the year was over. It would be nice to go back home.

When he woke up on the day of Bill’s graduation—which so also happened to be the day that Dipper had to take a plane to Piedmont—the other side of the bed was empty and Bill was standing across the room, already in his gown and cap, fiddling with one of the sleeves.

Dipper sat up and began to rub one of his eyes. “You’re up early.”

Bill only grunted in reply, “It’s ten.”

“Isn’t your graduation at noon?”

“Mm.”

Dipper leaned forward and rested his elbows on the tops of his knees. “When do you leave for New York, anyway?”

“Are you coming?”

“To New York?” Dipper asked, puzzled.

Bill shook his head, obviously frustrated. “No, to my graduation.”

DIpper puffed up his cheeks with air, then released it before replying, “I mean, I’d love to, but I still have some packing to do later and after I’m going to go, like, get lunch or something. We can meet up here after you’re done with your graduation, though, right?” he added on quickly at the end, not wanting to sound like a terrible friend.

Now BIll lifted his head and looked over at him, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but all that came out was “Sure,” and then he was leaning down to pick up one of his own boxes—he’d had his own packing done already, to Dipper’s surprise—and place it on his bed.

"Um…” Dipper stared at his feet. “I’ll, uh, miss you, you know.”

Bill frowned. “Me, too.”

“And, uh…” Dipper swallowed. “I love you.”

“I  _ know,”  _ Bill said, sounding angry. Though, the thing was, he didn’t sound like he was angry with Dipper. Sighing, he crossed the room until he was standing at the side of Dipper’s bed; and, his hands twitching at his sides, he added, “It’s been an honor having you as my roommate.” And Dipper couldn’t help but laugh at that, which lead him to ask, “What’s so funny? I’m trying to be nice here.”

“Yeah,  _ that’s  _ what’s so funny about it,” the brunet replied, sliding out of his bed so he could stand directly in front of Bill. Reaching out, he pulled the older male into a hug, and, though Bill immediately held him close, he didn’t let the hug linger.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Bill said, pushing him away.

Dipper smiled and planted his hands on Bill’s chest, leaning up for a quick kiss. “So we’ll meet back here tonight?”

“Sure,” the other told him, and he smiled back; but Dipper could still feel something, some kind of sadness, rolling off him in waves. Grabbing Dipper’s hand, he lifted it and kissed him on his wrist, where blood pulsed beneath the skin. “Good luck.”

* * *

 

Dipper spent the rest of the day pondering the last words Bill told him that morning before leaving early for his graduation.  _ Good luck.  _ Good luck with what? Packing? Though Dipper appreciated the gesture—he hated both packing and unpacking with a fiery passion—he doubted that was what Bill had meant by it, especially considering that Bill had looked so sad while he said it…

It was this that Dipper thought about as he headed to a pizzeria and ordered a plain slice and a soda for lunch, had his lunch, and headed back to his dorm.  _ Good luck.  _ With what? And what was it that Bill had stopped himself from saying a week ago? Dipper thought he knew, but he also didn’t want to wind up jumping to  _ that  _ conclusion, so he wiped that possibility from his mind.

His dorm was locked when he arrived, which was odd? Hadn’t Bill said they would meet back here? Dread stirred in his gut as he inserted the key and unlocked the door.

The room was empty and dark, as Dipper had feared it would be—and for the first time in the nine months that he’d been living here, this place actually terrified him.

Bill’s side of the room was completely abandoned, all his stuff gone and his dresser—or, rather, the dresser that _ used  _ to be his—had all its drawers closed, and it didn’t take a genius to assume they were most likely held nothing. His bed was made, the sheets not having a single wrinkle, the pillows fluffed up and in their proper place. The only thing that seemed to be  _ out  _ place, in fact, was the piece of paper sitting atop the bed. Dipper crossed the room and picked it up.

It was a piece of notebook paper, freshly ripped; and there was a note addressed to Dipper written on it in a familiar, messy scrawl, one that Dipper knew all too well.

As he read the note, he slid down onto the floor and tears began to pool in his eyes.

_ Dipper, _

_ I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving when I had the chance. My flight leaves about an hour and a half after the ceremony ends, so after the ceremony was over I came back here and got my stuff and wrote you this letter. I’m an idiot and I should have told you but I didn’t want to make you upset. But I suppose this is just as bad. _

_ I guess I was always jealous of you. You always seemed to have a better life, a better family, people who care about you and would never leave you… Whenever you talked about Mabel it always made me angry because sometimes I wish I could have siblings so at least I wouldn’t be this alone. And how you talk about your parents...They really love you, Dipper. I respect how you’re so proud of that. You should stay proud of that. You make a lot of friends, too, which also makes me envy you. But I also have to thank you because me and Pacifica are sort-of friends now and you’re the reason for that. _

_ Veronica is the only family I have left, you know, even IF she’s not really a family member. Now that I think about it, that’s probably why she got me a plane ticket to New York without telling me. So I wouldn’t have to be alone. _

_ My mother would have liked you, I think, because you stay optimistic and you can make good out of even the shittiest situation, which is another thing I like about you. Even when I hated you I still liked that about you, and that’s saying a lot. I wish you would be able to meet her...at least, before she became depressed. She used to be such a hopeful person. _

_ I used to believe the stuff she told me about happy endings and happiness itself were bullshit, especially after she died, but now I know it isn’t; at least, not entirely, anyway. I think what she was trying to tell me was that people have to be able to make their own happy endings and not wait for it to be handed to them. And that maybe, just maybe, the happy ending doesn’t have to be a fairy tale one. Maybe it just involves picking up the pieces, setting yourself up for something better in the future. Maybe the happy ending is just moving on. _

_ I’m going to rehab. I’m not sure how it’s going to affect me in the long run, but I hope it’s in a good way. Maybe I’ll be able to be happy one day. I hope so. _

_ Honestly, I have no idea why you’re in love with me. You deserve so much better, because all I would do is hurt you over and over again, and I don’t want that for you. And, I know this is probably going to make you feel worse, but I love you, too. I had meant to tell you but I’m a coward and I couldn’t say it face-to-face. I’m sorry. _

_  I hope things go well for you. Graduate college and write that book you told me about. I’d totally read it. _

_ Thank you for everything, _

_ Bill _

By now, Dipper’s vision was blurred, tears staining his vision and threatening to come out. He gripped the paper so tight the sides crumpled, all before he began to angrily rip it into pieces, screaming curses at the top of his lungs to the empty room. Then he immediately regretted it, having lost the only momentum of Bill he had left.

_ I love you, too. _

_ Coward,  _ he thought, repeating the letter.  _ Coward, coward, coward. _

Still crying, he gathered the ripped-up pieces of paper and threw them in the trash; and, as he walked back over to his side of the room to get ready and leave for his own flight, something else paper crumpled underneath his foot. Hoping it wasn’t another stupid letter, he leaned down and picked it up.

It was a picture, one of a young boy with blond hair standing next to a woman with bright eyes and a brighter smile.

_ Bill,  _ he realized,  _ and his mom. _

Had Bill dropped the picture on his way out, or left it there on purpose? Dipper didn’t know, but he folded it up carefully and put it in his pocket.

He’d give it to Bill when he saw him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you you weren't gonna like it.
> 
> Last chapter: coming soon!
> 
> Also a quick reminder that I have a Tumblr (featheredkit), so you can come and scream at me if you want. :)


	30. Love is Unforgiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"We are left with a choice. Either let the guilt throw you back into the behavior that got you into trouble in the first place, or learn from the guilt and do your best to move on."_  
>  —Grey's Anatomy

On the last night of his six week program, Bill didn’t sleep. Instead he rolled around in his bed, either staring at the ceiling or at the wall, doing a lot of thinking, pondering, wanting to cry or scream or both—and a whole lot more regretting. Regretting not  _ saying  _ anything, regretting the fact that he’d literally  _ left without warning  _ and left nothing but a stupid  _ note;  _ and, if that wasn’t bad enough on it’s own, when he’d first gotten off the plane in New York, he was greeted with five missed calls and many, many more unread messages, all of them from the same person.

He pressed the palm of one hand against his forehead, his stomach twisting and his throat tight, as if he were going to vomit. But, honestly, after all those months he’d spent in withdrawal, he was pretty much numb to it by now.

He’d wound up changing his number the day after settling in with Pyronica, ensuring that he would no longer receive those calls, those texts demanding why he had to leave suddenly…

It wasn’t like he was mad at Dipper, because he wasn’t. In fact, it was the exact opposite. He was mad at  _ himself.  _ He was such an idiot. He’d known this even as he was writing the note, writing the three little words in the note, especially, that made the reality of the situation  _ that _ much worse.

_ I love you. _

Pyronica had been right. He should have said it to him in person when he had the chance; and he’d told himself again and again that he  _ would  _ do so, but when worse came to worse opportunity presented itself to him and he chickened out at the last second, the words wanting—no,  _ needing _ —to come out, but were trapped in his own insecurities, his own fear.

What a stupid thing to be afraid of, he told himself now, as he laid here in this bed, this insanely uncomfortable bed that he’d been forced to sleep in for the last month and a half, the very bed he wanted to burn and never have to sleep in again. Dipper had said it first, what other reassurance did he have than that?

This rehabilitation program was bringing out the worst in him, no matter  _ how  _ much his rehab counselor told him he would be cleansed, that the sins of his past—the excessive drinking, the needles in his arms—would all be nothing but a bad dream by the time he was done here and, after, he could move on with his life and leave it in his past.

He wished it was that easy; because whether or not he left here, never did drugs again, or return to drinking, he would still have the pleasurable memories of the highs these things brought him, the intense amount of happiness he’d always felt whenever he was high or drunk, how his problems would simply wash away for the time being and he could simply...be.

He could tell by his counselor’s passive aggressive attitude that she had never been an addict. This meant that she didn’t understand this. She didn’t understand what it felt like to be high and how rejuvenating it was. It was because of this that whenever she would say something along the lines of “Oh, William, your life would be  _ so  _ much better sober,” he would hold back a great want to punch her in the face and run away as fast as he could.

The worst thing she’d ever said, though, was during the third week, when Pyronica had come to visit him. She had said, “William’s  _ very  _ happy here.”

_ Dumb ass bitch,  _ Bill had thought then, his hands clenching into fists at his sides and his blood boiling at three-hundred degrees.  _ How do  _ you  _ know whether or not I’m happy? You don’t even  _ know  _ me. _

And after that he had paused, replaying the thought in his head, feeling nostalgic. He’d thought that exact same thing before, he knew, at Dipper. He’d thought the exact same thing about Dipper.

But he’d been wrong. Dipper knew him more than he realized, probably even better than he knew himself. It was a scary revelation, but also a relieving one nonetheless.

However, it wasn’t like that even mattered now. Dipper was in California, spending time with his sister and his parents, and Bill was in New York, rotting away in rehab, the will to give up stronger than it had ever been before.

_ I can’t give up, though,  _ he told himself, rolling over onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.  _ I told him I was going to be okay, even if it wasn’t a definite. I have to be okay for him.  _ And he almost laughed at loud at this thought, because  _ when  _ did he start caring about other people’s well beings? He didn’t even know if he was the same person anymore.

He couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Rehab would be over and he would finally be able to leave this place forever and...what? What was he supposed to do after that? Pyronica  _ did  _ manage to find him a job—a small stay-at-home job as a web designer, which he was grateful for, considering he didn’t want to leave the apartment unless his life truly depended upon it—but it didn’t pay much. Rather, it didn’t pay much  _ now.  _ Pyronica said the salary would rise as time went on, but he didn’t know.

He just wanted something  _ more. _

He wanted Dipper to be here. Dipper would know what to do. Dipper  _ always  _ knew what to do. Or, at the very least, Dipper would know how to make him feel less shitty.

But that was a stupid want. After all, their entire friendship had been, for the most part, one-sided, with Dipper giving it his all and trying his best to help and Bill just...casting it to the side as if it were nothing. He hadn’t realized he was doing it before, at first, that he was hurting Dipper by doing this, but now that he knew he cringed internally and wished he had done things differently. He wished that he had been a  _ good  _ friend instead of this jerk but did nothing but use people for his own gain.

Wishing, wishing, wishing.

That kind of thing only happened in fairy tales, he reminded himself.

* * *

 

“Would anyone else like to speak today?”

If there was one thing Bill hated more than rehab, it was the support group he had to go to with his rehab counselor once a week. She would sit next to him in one of the wooden chairs that were lined up in rows, all facing the podium at the front of the small room, near the door, where addicts getting help would go up to talk about their experiences and their recoveries; and each and every week it would be the same thing, people walking up and standing behind the podium and talking, and Bill trying his best to listen.

So far, he had never gone up to speak.

Of course, his counselor always encouraged him to, but he never did. Pyronica was in a different group than him so he was in a room full of people he didn’t know, nor did he care about. They could all die in a motel room by themselves, really.

When the question was asked, “Would anyone else like to speak today?” as usual Bill’s counselor shifted in her seat and glanced over at him out of the corner of her eye. The unspoken words,  _ Are you sure you don’t want to speak?  _ rang between them.

Bill rested his chin in one hand and turned his face away from her.  _ I hate you. _

“You must have  _ something  _ to talk about,” she insisted, her voice a whisper. “Besides, it’s your last day of rehabilitation. You might as well.”

Bill pushed his glasses up so he could rub one of his eyes, releasing a deep breath. “Okay, but how does this benefit me?”

When his counselor didn’t say anything in reply, instead tearing her gaze away from his, he let out a groan—and, in an act that was both a mix of impulse and frustration, he threw one of his arms in the air, volunteering. “I’ll go,” he muttered, and the woman at the podium smiled before stepping aside so he could take her place.

As he walked to the podium, all the others clapped, though he wasn’t sure what the purpose of that was. He was supposed to talk about his problems. What part of that warranted such a reaction.

He leaned his elbows on the slanted surface and leaned forward slightly, waiting until everyone quieted down; and, once they did, he found that he didn’t know what to say first, causing him to stare stupidly at everyone. Finally, he settled his gaze on his counselor’s and she mouthed the words, “Introduce yourself.”

He sighed. “Hi,” he said at last, simply, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the quiet but pressing on nonetheless, “my name’s William.”

“Hi, William,” the others responded in monotone.

He dug his nails into his palms and took another long, deep breath before he began, “When I was a little kid, my dad abused my mom, and one day my mom decided she didn’t want to put up with it anymore, so she divorced him and took me and we moved here, to New York. But we didn’t stay here long, and we moved to Oregon.”

He paused, not sure of how much he was  _ supposed  _ to tell, exactly, once again looking over to his rehab counselor for guidance. She smiled encouragingly.

“My mom didn’t tell me, but she was really upset. She still loved him, you know, because you can’t just...delete feelings, I guess.” A few people nodded in agreement, like that was something they totally understood, and this emboldened him enough that he continued, “During my senior year of high school, she killed herself and left me with barely any money. I had to take several jobs in order to keep her apartment and go to college, and I think it was two weeks after she died that I started doing drugs...and drinking.”

He stopped in his story for the umpteenth time, waiting for the protest, waiting for someone to stand up and tell him that he was an idiot, that he could have found  _ better  _ ways to deal with his stress. But, after a moment passed in which that protest never came, he realized that these people might have  _ really  _ understood him. They actually knew how he felt.

His lips twitched. “I was able to keep her apartment for the most part, but the summer before my senior year of college a certain...financial situation came up and I had to give it up. I stayed in the college’s dorms for my senior year.” He wiped at his eyes.

“You know, I had no idea how badly I was hurting people I cared about until then. Like, there was this one person”—he stopped in order to calm himself down, stop himself from bursting out into tears in front of these complete strangers—”who was my roommate, and he really cared about  _ me,  _ and he always tried to help me, but I was ungrateful. I didn’t realize how lucky I was to have someone like that—someone who  _ truly  _ cared and wasn’t just using me for their own benefit—until it was too late. I messed up a whole lot, and I only caused that person pain. I don’t think I want to do that to anyone else again. My other friend is the one who forced me into rehab, and at the time I thought she was being ridiculous. The first week was hell; the withdrawal was really bad. But now it’s different...and I hope my roommate, who inspired all this, is proud of me right now.”

For a long time it was silent, so quiet one would be able to hear a cricket chirping. Then, just as suddenly, everyone broke out into applause a second time, to Bill’s relief. He mumbled a quick thanks before returning to his seat, next to his rehab counselor, who was smiling.

“Now, was that so hard?” she teased, her eyes shining.

“Shut up,” Bill replied, not really meaning anything by it, sinking down in his seat.

* * *

 

A few days later and Bill was settling back in Pyronica’s apartment, living life with an empty feeling in his chest.

He wasn’t happy.

“It’s your own damn fault,” Pyronica told him one morning as she poured the coffee into cups, adding brown sugar for Bill and creamer and white sugar for herself. She walked over into the living space and gave him his cup, sitting down on the couch next to him. “You should have told him face-to-face.”

“Yes, Py,” Bill replied, taking a sip before resting the cup between his legs. “You might have told me that once or twice or a couple  _ hundred thousand times.” _

Pyronica rolled her eyes. “Have you called him at all? Do you even remember his phone number?”

Bill stared down at his coffee, black and hot between his fingers. “Of course I remember his phone number.”

“In that case you should call him, talk, get his Skype or FaceTime or whatever the hell people use these days. That’s close enough to face-to-face, I suppose, minus the real life aspect.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is. Give me your phone.” Pyronica placed her own cup on the small glass table in front of the couch as he did so, reluctantly unlocking it and handing it to her. She opened the keypad. “Alright, tell me his number. I think I might have accidentally deleted from my contacts, so I don’t know.”

Bill recited the numbers, already knowing what was happening—but his body seemed to want to do nothing to stop it, the only thing moving being his fingers, which twitched at his sides irritably.

It wasn’t until Pyronica pressed the call button that he sprung into action, jumping up and trying to swipe it away from her. She held it just out of his reach. “Come on, Py, this isn’t fun—” Then came the ringing, and he cut himself short, freezing. Pyronica did the same.

It rang four times before the call picked up and Dipper’s voice came over the line. “Hello? Who is this?”

Swiftly, Bill managed to take the phone, much to Pyronica’s surprise. “Is anyone there?” Dipper asked, and Bill hung up before he could finish, the call ending. He groaned and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

Pyronica glared at him. “Coward,” she said.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Bill replied honestly, brushing some stray blond locks to the side. They were both silent, then he said, “I’m not ready to talk to him yet.”

“Apparently.” Pyronica reached over, and Bill flinched, but it was only to get her coffee. She took a gulp of it, obviously not caring that it was fresh out of the pot. “Listen, no one ever said you had to ready right away, but if you ever want the hope of seeing him again, you’re going to have to be ready  _ one day.” _

“I know, I know,” Bill said, taking a sip of his own coffee to ease his nerves. It didn’t work too well; his hands were still shaky. “Just...not today, okay, Py?”

“Okay, but if you don’t call him first,  _ I  _ will,” Pyronica warned him. “You know very well that would only make things worse than they already are.”

Bill rubbed his forehead. “Duly noted.”

“By the way,” Pyronica continued, as if everything was fine and she hadn't just threatened him, “you can go in your room and leave me alone now. I don't have work and I plan to watch TV mindlessly for the next twelve hours.” As a way to prove she stood her ground, she threw her feet up onto the table, looking Bill right in the eye, and took another slow sip of her coffee. Once she was done, she handed him the cup, which was now empty. “Put this in the sink while you're at it.”

Bill suppressed a groan and complied, taking the cup in his free hand and bringing it into the kitchen. He placed it in the sink and, deciding he wasn't in the mood for coffee anymore, dumped what was left of his own down the drain.

He washed the dishes, then went his room and locked the door after himself. He let out a long breath and leaned his back against the wooden surface, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. Frustrated and lost in his own head, he buried his hands in his hair.

After a while of simply remaining there, doing nothing productive, he figured he'd better go take a walk to clear his head. He brushed his hair and threw on his clothes and shoes and, on his way out the door, Pyronica stopped him, pausing whatever she was watching and stare at him with a raised brow.

“Where do you think you're going?” she asked.

For a moment Bill considered calling her something along the lines of a nosy bitch, but then he realized; she  _ still  _ didn't trust him, even after rehab. Of course, he couldn't really blame her, but anger bubbled in his gut nonetheless, threatening to break the surface.

Managing to sustain it—at least for the time being—he lowered his hand from the knob and said, “I'm just taking a walk. I'll be back in, like, ten minutes.”

“Don't say ten minutes, because I will actually go hunting for you after ten minutes.”

“Fine. An hour.”

Pyronica thought that over. “Well, the police could always track your phone in case…” Bill honestly couldn't tell if she was kidding or not. She shook her head. “Never mind. Pretend I didn't say anything. But be back in an hour.”

“I will.” Bill rolled his eyes and headed out.

* * *

 

That night after dinner he immediately rushed to the bathroom, feeling exceptionally unwell; and, sure enough, not a second after he had pushed up the lid to the toilet and dropped down on his knees in front of it, he began to vomit, his entire body shaking. Pyronica was behind him the entire time, paper towels in the hand she was using to rub his back.

Once he was finished she handed them to him, her expression neutral but her eyes filled with disgust. Bill knew her well enough to figure out she wasn't a huge fan of having to watch people throwing up. He took the paper towels from her and began to wipe her face while she got to her feet, walked to the other side of the bathroom, and soon came back with a toothbrush.

“That shit makes your breath stink and it's fucking nasty,” she said as he took it and stood as well, walking over to the sink and turning on the faucet.

She watched him brush his teeth for a few seconds before she said, “I know that wasn't from withdrawal, so tell me what's wrong.”

There was no use arguing with a demand like that. Bill took his toothbrush out of his mouth long enough to reply. “I've been thinking about...stuff,” he told her, hesitantly, then resumed the task of brushing his teeth.

“Obviously you're thinking about  _ stuff.  _ But that's not what I'm asking. What kind of stuff?” Pyronica studied him a moment, taking him in. At last, she added, “You're thinking about  _ him,  _ aren't you?”

“What made you think that?” Bill asked, then spat out his toothpaste in the sink. He turned off the faucet and put his brush away before swiveling around to face her. Her expression read exactly what he felt; upset. “The fact that I'm living aimlessly and everyday is a completely new hell?”

Pyronica glared at him. “Now, I don't think you should say that kind of thing to me after I helped you pay for six weeks of rehab,” she replied craftily, stepping forward so they were only a few inches apart. Bill hadn't fully realized until then that they were both about the same height. “I know it's hard,” she said, her voice suddenly becoming much softer, “but you honestly can't expect  _ all  _ your problems to get fixed in one night. Life just doesn't work like that.”

“And I don't understand why,” Bill said, leveling her gaze with his, ignoring her, “because our relationship wasn't even relatively healthy. Why would I miss him this much?”

“Because people who love each other  _ do  _ hurt each other from time to time. You know that,” Pyronica said. “And, like you said, you can't talk to him today. That's fine. Maybe you won't talk to him tomorrow, either. Or the next day. Or the next. Maybe a year will pass and you'll still not have contacted him. Maybe two.”

“This is supposed to make me feel better  _ how?” _

“My point  _ is,”  _ she interrupted, “you need to take things one step at a time. You can't rush a happy ending.”

“Oh, great,” Bill grumbled. He took a step away from her. “Now you sound like my mom.”

“She was a good woman.”

“She  _ killed herself.” _

That, Bill hadn't meant to say. Pyronica paused, his mouth hanging open with words that would probably never come. She seemed to take a moment to process it, and when she did all she said was, “What do you mean? She fell down the stairs.”

Bill shook his head. It was too late to turn back now. “No, that's just what I told everyone. She shot herself. You know that handgun she always kept in the dresser in her room in case of emergencies?” Pyronica nodded, her face pale. “She used that.”

Pyronica was quiet for a long time. Then she said something Bill hadn't expected.

“I should have been there for you.”

Bill snorted, though he was shaking, trying to dismiss it. “I was out getting high instead of dancing with my roommate. Don't talk to me about being there for someone. It's nothing.”

“No, it's not  _ nothing,”  _ Pyronica replied shakily. There were tears in her eyes; yet another thing Bill wasn't used to when it came to her. “I should have  _ been there  _ for you.”

“Forget I said anything,” Bill tried, again, but she only shook her head. He didn't need to get upset over this, he thought, and he pushed past her and rushed into the room, locking the door.

Pyronica stood outside, calling his name and apologizing, over and over and over, but Bill covered his ears with his hands and tried to ignore her. Enough time passed and she finally left, her footsteps retreating down the hall.

He turned out the light, figuring it was best to turn it for the night. But, when he was settled under the covers, he stared out the window on the far wall, not wanting to fall asleep. He was scared he would have that nightmare again.

_ He was standing in his mom's old apartment, confused as to why he was there, what he was supposed to be doing there, what was the purpose of him being there. _

_ However, he was snapped out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. Rushing over, he placed his hand on the knob and turned it, opening the door. _

_ His mom stood there, waiting for him, seeming to be in a rush. Her eyes were wide with fear, like she was trying to run away from something. Or someone. _

_ “Your father's keys,” she panted. “I need you father's keys. Do you have them? Please, William, hurry.” _

_ “Mom,” he said, finally finding his voice, “you don't have to put up with him anymore. You don't have to make yourself worry so much over him.” _

_ “Please, William, just give me his keys.” _

_ Bill looked down despite wanting to say more; and, sure enough, in his hands were the keys his mother was looking for. Wordlessly, he handed them to her, and she pocketed them. _

_ “Thank you so much, William. Thank you so much.” _

_ “You know you left me,” Bill told her. “You left me because of him.” _

_ His mother gave him a smile then; a smile he knew too well, one that meant she knew something he didn't, and he wondered what it was she was hiding. “I know, William, I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't. I wish I could be with you now.” _

_ “But you aren't. You're gone.” _

_ One of her hands landed upon his cheek, soft and warm and familiar. “I promise we'll be together again. You just have to wait, because it's not going to be for a  _ long  _ time. Just live a happy life. I'll wait for you.” _

He wondered now if she was still waiting for him.

Something compelled him to look over at his bedside dresser. When he did, she was sitting there, at the foot of his bed, her eyes bright in the dark and her arms folded together on the mattress, watching him.

“Good night, my love,” she said.

He wanted to argue with her. He wanted to say that he would never sleep again, that he die right here and right now so he could be with her again, just like she said.

But she wanted him to live a long life. She wanted him to be happy; and, if he didn't at least do that much for her, it would make her upset, and he didn't want her to be upset anymore.

He closed his eyes and drifted off.

As he did, he could almost smell the laundry detergent and cherries on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Vt4Tq89R8u0) a song that fits the end fairly well.
> 
> Hope you like that little chapter 16 cameo. ;)
> 
> Honestly, I'm fucking crying right now. Thank all of you guys so much for all of your support, whether the support be in kudos, comments, bookmarks, or even those kind little anonymous asks I got on Tumblr. They all mean the world to me and pushed me to keep going, even during the times when I began to doubt my writing a bit.
> 
> Whatever happens next is up to your interpretation. I have not planned a sequel or even thought of writing one and, as such, there will never be one. With that said, I am not permitting anyone to write one for me or make any kind of continuation to this fic in general, so please don't ask.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](http://featheredkit.tumblr.com) to keep up with my writing and stay tuned for future projects. (For some of you, that dream you have about me writing my own original work isn't too far off.)
> 
> Also, it would mean a lot to mean if you would let me know what you thought of this story. Your feedback means everything to me.
> 
> I love you guys.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Midnight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8802742) by [FeatheredKit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheredKit/pseuds/FeatheredKit)
  * [No One's Heroic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846696) by [FeatheredKit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheredKit/pseuds/FeatheredKit)




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